#he has nowhere to stock those pictures of course there are on him while he is fighting to survive

[littlefankingdom]

- Injustice: God Among Us

When Batman takes a hit in Injustice, there should be a ton of pictures of his kids falling from him. I don't make the law.

[dandelionflower]

She’s not here

They were all on the bus, heading back to the hotel for dinner and rest.

It was hard work, fixing up a park, but the class did it well. By the end of the day, it was beautiful, all traces of trash had disappeared and they had even managed to give some benches a new coat of paint.

Lila beamed and clapped as it was over, promising everyone a scoop of ice cream, as was tradition when she finished a big project. However, when they found a place that was selling ice cream, she realized she left her wallet in her room.

Apologizing profusely, she swore that she’d get them a treat some other time.

“This has never happened before; I’m so sorry everyone!”

Alya patted her shoulder. “It’s okay, girl. You already helped so much to heal that park; let us do something for you.”

“At least let me order for all of you.”

“If you want, girl, sure.”

“Okay, I’m usually really good at guessing people’s favorite ice cream flavors once I get to know them, so I should be good for most of you, but since Marinette and I haven’t been on such good terms lately, I’ll probably need to ask her. Where is she?”

“I dunno. Mari!” Alya called into the meager crowd of students. “Come on out, hun, we need to know your pick for ice cream!”

Adrien piped up from the back, where he was chatting with Rose. “I don’t think she’s here. She must not have come back from her walk.”

Alya felt her heart race with concern. “Lila, I know you want us to have ice cream, but there’s no way we can just leave Marinette in the forest.”

“Of course not, Alya.” She placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll go look for her after I place our orders. I know these woods better than anybody; I’ll have her back in a jiff.”

“Okay, thanks Lila.” She let out a breath, leaning against Nino.

True to her word, Lila left soon after ordering for everyone, heading down the sidewalk to look for Marinette. Sure, she seemed to be going the wrong way, but it was probably a shortcut she forgot to mention.

—

The walk back to the hotel was lovely, with Alya and Adrien arguing over which picture of Ladybug should be the new header for her blog and Nino holding her hand the whole way.

It was only when she got back to the hotel and saw Lila lounging beside a cute boy, did she remember that her BFF was missing.

“Lila! Did you find her?”

Adrien jolted, mid-sentence and looked up at Lila with hopeful eyes. It seemed that he forgot about Marinette too.

Lila sat still for a moment, before a look of remorse crossed her face.

“I’m so sorry, Alya. I couldn’t find her. I scoured every path, but nothing.”

“I should probably check.” Adrien raised his hand. “After all, I’m her boyfriend.”

“That’s a great idea.” Lila stood and walked to clasp Adrien’s arm. “I’ll come too, so we don’t get lost like Marinette.”

An odd look crossed Adrien’s face, but he nodded nevertheless. They began walking to the exit.

“Ah!” Lila flinched, clutching her leg. “My leg! I must have sprained it while looking for Marinette.”

“Oh!” Alya rushed to Lila’s other side, helping Adrien hold her up. “Let’s get you to our room, maybe get some ice for that leg.”

“No, I know you and Nino probably wanted to spend some time together. Adrien can take me. After all, what are all of those fencing lessons for?” She nudged him with a teasing grin, which he shakily returned. Poor guy, probably so worried about Marinette.

“Okay, make sure you call me if you need anything.” She grabbed both of her shoulders. “Anything.”

“Of course.” She smiled and patted her arm before tugging Adrien to the stairs.

Alya turned to Nino with a beam. “Soo, wanna hang out?”

He rolled his eyes, slipping his headphones back around his neck. “Of course, it’s not like we’ve talked about it since we found out about the trip.”

She leaned into his side, pressing a kiss on his jaw. “I’ve looked up a map, and I’m ready to show you all the sights.”

“Hi!” An unfamiliar voice surprised them; it was chirpy like Rose, but not quite as high. They turned in unison and saw a willowy girl with a long ponytail trailing down her back. An odd headband was woven into the deep purple locks.

“Sorry to eavesdrop, but I heard you two were looking for a place to hang out? Might I suggest…” her eyes landed on Alya’s face before brightening up again. “The aquarium? In the evening like this, the lights turn on and everything seems to glow an incredible blue.”

“Really?” She glanced at Nino with a grin. “That sounds like an incredible thing to put on my blog! Come on, Nino, let’s go!”

“Okay.” He chuckled and allowed himself to be pulled down a random hallway.

“Just take a right, then a left. It should be two doors down!”

They both giggled like kindergartners as they ran down the halls. Nino stopped and cocked a brow when she continued pulling him past the door the girl mentioned.

“Let’s play a game.” She whispered. “We both get lost and try to meet back here. Video chat so we know we don’t cheat.”

He pulled out his phone and called her in response.

Once they had gotten thoroughly lost, Alya set a timer and began dashing back to the aquarium.

It took her three minutes. (she may have cheated a little bit, but it wasn’t her fault! Nino is really cute when he gets winded from running!) She stumbled into the room, listening to Nino complain about how much she was making him run.

It was incredible. The latent orange from the sunset and the blues from the aquarium blended in a perfect contrast that she almost dropped her phone.

“Whereisshe...”

“You say something babe?” She glanced down at her phone. It was blank; no service.

Oh well, Nino would tell her what he said when he got here. Meanwhile, she raised her camera app to capture the stunning sight before her.

“She’snothere...”

A flicker at the corner of her screen. She lowered her phone, but nothing was there. It was slipped into her pocket as she turned to the larger aquarium. The fish seemed to be missing, except for one bright orange angel fish.

“She’snothere...”

The fish swam in hypnotizing figure eights. Alya stared at it, entranced. It felt like with every figure eight, the fish was stealing a little bit of breath from her.

“She’snothere.”

The fish moved faster and faster, until the swift motions combined with her shortness of breath made it look almost like it was forming a circle.

“She’snothere.”

No, not a circle.... a face. A face with thick rimmed glasses and a mole just above her eye. A face that looked like hers, but not.

“She’snothere. She’snothere. She’s. Not. HERE.”

A body erupted from the water, and Alya flinched from the waved, but they didn’t even spray her with a mist. Almost like they weren’t there.

A girl stood before her, hair in knots, staring at Alya. She was in a fancy blue dress that looked like it should be poofy, if not for the water dripping from the hem.

Alya stood stock-still, chest heaving. “Who are you?”

“Where is she?” A voice hissed from nowhere.

The girl looked at her with hollow eyes. “She’s not here.”

“Who are you walking about? What was that voice?”

The figure jolted, like a glitching video. Suddenly, her hair was neat and styled. Her dress was dry and fanned out around her.

“Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“Where is she?” The bodiless voice asked again, this time in a tone so sickly sweet, Alya felt like retching.

Her mirror image grinned at the ceiling, walking closer to the empty aquarium. She put her hand on it, like she was about to push open a door.

“She’s right here.”

Spectral waves rushed from the glass, assaulting and surrounding Alya. Her breaths became more and more shallow, it felt like her throat was closing up.

Like she was drowning.

—

When Nino came in, panting and just barely biting his tongue from cussing, Alya was curled in a ball on the floor, wheezing.

“Als!” He fell to his knees beside her, taking in her vitals like he learned in the akuma relief seminar. “You okay? It looks like you had either an allergic reaction or a panic attack. What was in that ice cream you ate?”

“Don’t...know... Lila ordered.” She gripped his hand tightly and pulled herself up, pulling out her phone and dialing Lila’s number.

“Alya!” She could hear the smile in her voice. “Adrien, come on over, it’s Alya.”

“Hey Alya.”

“What... was in the ice cream?”

“The ice cream I ordered? I can’t remember... hazelnuts, I think?”

She glanced at Nino with wide eyes. She was allergic to hazelnuts. Not enough to do anything serious, but enough that she had a little trouble breathing afterwards. That must also explain that weird stuff she saw too; oxygen deprivation.

Nino grabbed her arm, fully intent on taking her to her room to recuperate for the rest of the night. She allowed him to, still a little shaken.

—

A sleek fox sat in front of a broken-eyed ghost. So?

“She’s not here.” Anya replied, glaring at the ceiling. She looked back down, her defiant eyes turning sad. “She’s not here.”

Not true. She’s here, and she’s safe and sound in her room.

Her broken eyes lit up and she floated purposefully towards the best room in the home.

Not yet you don’t! Finny hovered in front of the ghost. She’s sleeping and you won’t bother her!

The ghost nodded forlornly and dissipated.

That settles it, doesn’t it? Grace asked once the ghost was gone

Yep, Allegra moved forwards. These students are helping them pass on. Once they impart their knowledge, and scare them straight, they get their free will back, to haunt or help who they choose.

It’s weird though, isn’t it? Finny mused. How just one word could have changed everything? If Anny had just lied to her, none of this will be happening.

But she didn’t. Allegra reminded him softly. None of them did, and this is the price they pay.

Yeah... Finny flew low. Hey Allegra?

Yeah, Fin?

She’s here. Giddiness oozed from his voice.

Yeah, Allegra stared at the hallway leading to the girl that gave their lives purpose again, she is.

………

The rest

………

@merry-madness @calliopeia @drama-queen-supreme @kaydenth3gayden @mcheang @nomiegnome @never-say-donuts @vixen-uchiha @miracul0us-multishipper @hauntedfreakdeputyhero @chocolatecustarddanish @iwantswifttoblessmysoul @digitalmagpie @ilseofskadi @nerdy-and-a-little-birdy @minty-goose @nataladriana9 @constellation-king @animegirlweeb @persephonebutkore @ahalloweengirl @r0sebutch @marinettepotterandplagg @beelzzebop @akalovelymaybe @pleasefollowmeuwu @angelost4r @constancetruggle @speaknowtome @some-oxymoron @nerdy-scifi-birdy @purplesundaze @aestheticnpoetic @neptuningkai @2confused-2doanything @goggles-mcgee @grumpy-kitten-vixen @atremisdragona @lookatthestars1 @demonicbusiness @toodaloo-kangaroo

[suzu-kun22]

Not Quite Invincible

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30488721

Prompt: Hallucinations Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen Pairings: Nanago, Satosugu Warnings: Illness, mentions of past canonical character death Summary: Nanami returns home to find a sick and delusional Gojou, talking to his long-gone best friend.

@badthingshappenbingo​

If there are any specific prompts you’d like me to write and any specific scenarios/fandoms/pairings you’d like me to write for, just send in an ask!

Story below the cut!

To most, Gojou Satoru seems invincible.

To most that encounter him, he seems as though nothing bothers him. He doesn’t seem to know how to take a hit, what with an ability that stops just about everything from making contact and a tendency to reach speeds incomprehensible to most human eyes. To most, he is flawless. A beacon of hope. The pillar that holds up the feeble roof of Jujutsu Sorcery. Were it not for Gojou Satoru, would the institution even still be standing? It’s a question that has been posed many times, and yet it’s never one that Nanami Kento has seen answered in a way he finds satisfactory. 

Still, for all of his power, for all of his strength, and for as many opponents that have fallen to Gojou Satoru, there are still things that even one such as he is weak to. There are still things that can leave him as vulnerable as the child that he pretends to be. There are still things that steal that confidence from his voice and leave him doing just about everything that he possibly can to cover up the shaking that’s left in its wake.

Apparently, Nanami Kento is one of few privileged enough to see it.

“What are you doing in my house?” Nanami asks with eyes narrowed and arms crossed over his chest. He had walked through the door to find a pair of shoes that were most certainly not his and a pitch black coat hanging on one of his hooks. Nanami owned nothing black. He had discovered, while working in a boring office where the only goal was money, money, and more money, that black made him look far too uptight, and made him feel the same way. If he was going to be saving people, he would be better served wearing a less depressing color. 

There’s only one person who Nanami knows well enough to suspect them of being in his house, who also wears a black coat and... whatever the hell those shoes even are. How frustratingly annoying, that it’s also the man known for his ability to inflict just about anyone he speaks to with a migraine that just might last days, depending on his mood. If Gojou Satoru is feeling particularly annoying today, then Nanami will have to make sure to stock up on painkillers. If he’s feeling just mildly frustrating, then perhaps Nanami will manage to kick him out the door with minimal incident.

“Hmmmmm…?” There’s a long hum coming from the lump on Nanami’s couch. Wrapped up in blankets, Nanami can barely make out a head of ethereally white hair resting against one of his throw pillows. “…oh, you’re home?” The voice is familiar, but also not. It’s obviously the voice of Gojou Satoru. There’s no way that Nanami would ever be able to mistake that voice for anyone else. And yet, there’s something off about it. Something shaky, quiet, weak, vulnerable, and maybe just a bit broken. 

“Yes. What are you doing in my house?” Nanami repeats his question, and there’s a long minute with no answer. Then the pile of blankets shifts, groans, and settles once again. This is going to take a while, it seems. “Are you going to answer me, or are we going to stand here all night?”

“…head hurts.” The pile mumbles. “Stop talking so loud–“ A hand pokes itself out from the mountain and waves at Nanami, as though asking him to quiet down. “–Shouko said… uhhh… somethin’ about sleeping until it goes away,” Gojou’s voice says with an edge to it that Nanami doesn’t recognize and most certainly doesn’t like. He furrows his brow, reaches down, and shakes the pile until it lets out another loud groaning sound and rolls over. Finally, there’s Gojou Satoru’s face. His signature blindfold is nowhere to be seen. His hair is even more disheveled than normal. His eyes are squeezed firmly shut and Nanami can make out beads of sweat on his brow. His skin is flushed, and Nanami would be willing to bet that those scarily blue eyes hidden behind lids are glassy. 

“You’re sick.” Nanami states, and Gojou seems to flinch at the statement. “Why did you not go home?” Nanami asks with a raised eyebrow. Gojou lets out yet another groan and rolls over, tucking his face into the back of the sofa and hiding himself from view once again. Honestly, what a child. He can’t even be bothered to look Nanami in the eyes when they’re speaking. “Gojou–“

“Satoru.” Gojou interrupts. “When’d… When did you stop callin’ me that..?” 

Nanami blinks. He stares, for a moment, unsure of what to do. As far as he remembers, he’s never used Gojou’s given name. Certainly never to his face. He reaches a hand forward, trying to rest it on Gojou’s forehead to feel for a temperature. The moment his fingers brush against the man’s hair, however, Gojou almost seems to jump away. Nanami pulls his hand back. Stares, for a moment, before reaching forward again and this time managing to rest his fingers against Gojou’s forehead. He doesn’t pull back, despite the intensity of the burning that he finds there. 

“Mmmmm…” Gojou hums. “…your hand’s cold, Suguru.” He whispers, and it gives Nanami pause. Of course it does. What else is he meant to do, in response to that? 

“Gojou, I’m not Getou.” Nanami says, because he can’t think of anything else to say. Gojou has a fever – which was obvious even before Nanami rested a hand on his forehead – which seems to be high enough to be giving him delusions. Nanami wonders, briefly, how the older of the two of them could be irresponsible enough to let himself get so sick. Then he remembers that the older of the two of them is Gojou Satoru, infamous for his strength and his complete and total lack of responsibility. “Why did you come here?”

“Missed you,” Gojou mumbles. “Ahhhh, prolly shouldn’t have said that. You’ll never let me live it down,” Gojou laughs. It’s humorless. Nanami hates the sound of it. “…Shouko said somethin’ about staying in bed… but bed is super boring when you’re alone,” He grumbles, turning his head as though going to look up, but his eyes stay firmly closed. Nanami wonders, absently, if the six eyes serve to worsen his headache or improve it. “…been a while since we could hang out, Suguru. How’s the afterlife treating you?” Gojou’s lips quirk up, into a smirk. Nanami could spot how fake it is from a mile away. “Having fun in hell?”

“Gojou.”

“Awww, c’mon!” There’s a shakiness to the happy tone that Nanami is certain most would miss. Most, however, haven’t known Gojou Satoru quite as long as Nanami Kento has. Most would assume that he’s playing some sick game with himself that no one else is allowed to get in on. Nanami knows better. “…j-just cause I killed you… d-doesn’t mean that we can’t still…” Gojou breathes a heavy exhale. As though something is pressing on his chest and Gojou can’t quite shake it. Nanami sighs. No matter what he says, it doesn’t seem to be working. For now, he might as well try and do something about the fever. 

Gojou continues mumbling. Nanami crosses the living room and makes for the nearest bathroom. Once inside, he collects a rag and a basin, quickly filling it with cool water and allowing the rag to soak in it for a moment. With a sigh, Nanami lifts the basin and makes his way back to the sofa. Gojou has shifted slightly. His eyes are still closed, but he’s lying on his back now. One arm is slung over the back of the couch, and the other is resting on the floor. Normally, Nanami would comment on what a messy pose it is. Now is not normally. 

“Stay still,” Nanami commands, setting the basin down beside the sofa. Gojou mumbles something that Nanami can’t quite make out – aside from the use of the name Suguru once again – but otherwise complies. What a strange sight, a Gojou Satoru who actually follows orders. 

Nanami lays the damp folded cloth over Gojou’s forehead. It causes the white-haired sorcerer’s brow to furrow and his lips to twist into something of a grimace, but he doesn’t complain. The thought briefly crosses Nanami’s mind to take a picture. He can think of countless people who would appreciate a picture of the world’s strongest Jujutsu sorcerer in such a state. But the thought fades as quickly as it came. No matter how satisfying it might be to see someone as strong and insufferably annoying as Gojou humbled like this, that’s no excuse to take advantage of his pain for something so petty. 

“…’m sorry, Surugu,” Gojou mumbles. His hands clench into fists and then unclench once again. “…’m sorry… d-didn’t wanna kill you.” There’s another moment of silence. Gojou’s breathing is labored and maybe a bit pained. Nanami wonders, for a moment, how Ieiri could even allow him to head anywhere on his own, if he was this sick. The thought is quickly replaced, however, with– 

“…miss you,” Gojou whispers.

Nanami feels something ache in his chest. 

He buries it. Like always.

“Go to sleep, Gojou. You’re sick.” Nanami gives another command. The last one worked well enough. Perhaps all it takes to get Gojou Satoru to actually listen for once is to give him a high fever and a bit of delusion. It just might be useful information, somewhere down the line. 

“Mmmm… fine,” Gojou mumbles. His eyes stay closed, but the expression on his face relaxes a bit. “…see ya later… Suguru.” It’s the last thing he says, before his breathing begins to even out and his muscles lose a good amount of their tension. Nanami breathes a sigh of relief. He can only hope that the fever will break before Gojou wakes up again.

Gojou Satoru seems invincible, but Nanami Kento knows that he’s far from it. 

As satisfying as it is to see the mighty Gojou Satoru humbled, Nanami can’t say that he wants to see any more of it.

[detectiveidiotboy]

His Time In The Commonwealth II: Nick Valentine’s Story

so as my beloved fanfiction, The Black Widow’s Waltz, comes to an end, i’ve decided that i am going to re-release the backstory chapters as their own stand-alone fic, since they read well as their own story. before that, i thought i might do a fun little thing where i release each of the companions backstories as their own post here on tumblr under the tag #his time in the commonwealth.

and thus! on to part two!!! Nick Valentine; and how he made the worst decisions of his life

When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

It was dumb quote, but damn if it wasn’t applicable here.

“Nate!” Nick called, steeling his voice. “We need to talk.” The raven haired man looked up from the pot he had been stirring at his campsite. He was dressed in sturdy flannel shirt, hair tied back with a string - he was the picture of an old-world survivalist out on a camping stint. Nate smiled when he saw the synth detective - his friend.

“Nick,” He said, a pleasant ring to his voice, “Well isn’t this a surprise. I didn’t know you liked camping.” 

Nick felt something stir deep in that little part of him that still insisted he was human. Nate had an effect on people, and Nick knew he wasn’t immune. There wasn’t anything he wanted more than to just sit down with his friend and have a bowl of stew made from whatever wild creature Nate had picked off that day. Maybe this whole thing was ridiculous; Nate was odd, some would say a bit quicker to violence than the average wastelander - but he wasn’t a murderer. Right? 

Whatever remains, however improbable...

“This isn’t a friendly visit,” Nick said, eyes narrowed. He stood firm between the trees, hands at his sides. “I’m here on business.”

Nate cocked his head, expression genuine and confused. “You didn’t tell me you had another case come in.” Nate said.

“I didn’t,” Nick said. “This is something I’ve been working on alone.”

“I wish you would have told me,” Nate said, turning back to his soup to stir the pot before it boiled over. “What kind of partner would I be if I didn’t help you crack a case that has you this worked up?” 

“The kind who’s become my prime suspect,” Nick said. Nate had pulled the spoon up to his mouth to sample his creation. He lowered the spoon as he took in Nick’s accusation. 

“Prime suspect?” Nate said, brows knit. “What exactly are you accusing me of?”

“Cut the crap, Nate - I know you murdered Piper,” Nick hissed. The words hung between the two for a long moment. The pop pop pop of boiling water broke up the monotony of the windless day. Nate stared at Nick, Nick stared at Nate. 

“Well, I have to say,” Nate said, lowering his spoon back into the pot with a soft ting, “that’s quite the accusation coming from someone I thought was my friend.” The words stung, as did the harsh tone Nate said them in. Nick had to fight not to flinch. “I suppose you have some evidence to back up this claim that I murdered my girlfriend, right?” 

“I do,” Nick said grimly, “you know I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t absolutely sure it was you.” 

“Then by all means,” Nate said, crossing his legs and spreading his arms, “share with me.” 

Nick took a breath. He’d been preparing for this confrontation for hours. He still didn’t think he was ready. “Piper didn’t tell anyone where she was going the day she went missing,” Nick said, “not even Nat knew where she was.”

“I know,” Nate said, sounding impatient. “That’s why it took the city so long to find her remains.”

“But you see, the thing about that is,” Nicks said, “When they found Piper, there was a notepad and pencil in her pocket, as if she had gone out looking for a story.”

“She was dedicated to her work,” Nate mumbled, eyes staring at the autumn leaves on the ground. For all Nick saw, Nate looked exactly like the grieving boyfriend he claimed to be. The kind, accurate description of his late friend followed by the image of Nate appearing somber and dejected made Nick's head spin, but he soldiered on.

“That she was,” Nick nodded, “which was why she never left Diamond City without telling someone where she was going. What good’s a story if there’s no one to tell it, right?”

“I assumed it was something secret or sudden,” Nate said. “Something like a follow up on her story about the mayor now that he’s dead and confirmed to be an institute spy.” 

Nick grimaced. He would have to circle back to that later, since he was almost certain that Nate had been the one who 86’ed McDonough as well. “That’s what everyone assumed. Hell, even I thought that the poor girl had finally bitten off more than she could chew, maybe pushed one too many buttons with the Institute - but then I thought about it and something about the story I’d heard just didn’t jive.” 

“Oh?”

“See, the body was found with a notebook and a pencil,” Nick continued. “Now I’ve sat down to plenty of interviews with that girl over the years - not once did I see her use anything other than a pen.”

“So that’s your evidence?” Nate said, unimpressed. “Piper switched up her writing utensil and suddenly you think I killed her.”

“No, of course not,” Nick said, “But the fact that you were the last person to see her alive does raise a few questions.” 

Nate narrowed his eyes. “Nick, you know that I was nowhere near Diamond City when she died. I was with you, tracking down those holotapes."

“No - you were nowhere near Diamond City when Piper was presumed dead,” Nick clarified. 

“I don’t think I follow you here, Nick," Nate said. 

“I found her, Nate, ” Nick said, voice softer than intended. He felt his jaw lock up. If he were human he would have swallowed - the reflex was still there for him. He took a deep breath and continued. “She's in a bunker not far from the old drive-in. I found the real Piper.”

It had been only a few hours prior that Nick found himself face-to-face with the body of his dear friend; there was no mistaking her face, slumped over an old-world desk with eyes still open. She hadn't been dead long. If only he had been faster… the state of her body and room surrounding told him she hadn’t been dead more than a week, maybe even only a day or two - which was a far cry from the near month-and-a-half that the city guards had presumed her deceased. When all of this was over with, Nick would go back and make sure she was buried properly. For now, he had to see justice through. 

“When the guards found what they thought was Piper's body, they couldn’t make out her face. The poor thing was filled with so many bullets the only way they could identify who it was was by her clothes and the notepad planted on the body.” Nick said. "The Piper I found died about a week ago, around the very same time that the Guards found the fake Piper."

“So if I'm following you," Nate said, eyeing Nick with an unreadable expression, "you think someone kidnapped Piper, dressed some random body up in her clothes, and then, after the guards found what they thought was Piper's body, they killed her."

"Not someone, Nate, it was you. I know it was you," Nick said solemnly. 

"And why do you think that?" Nate spit. "What motivation could I possibly have to kill her?" He was clearly offended, which was fair enough considering the accusations - but if he really was the culprit as Nick suspected, then there was a disturbing amount of genuine indignation present in his eyes. 

"I don't know," Nick admitted. "No matter how much I think about it I can't say why you did it, but I do know is how you did it."

"Enlighten me." Nate crossed his arms and glared. 

Nick closed his eyes. He hated every second this dragged on. "Everyone assumed McDonough's assassination was the work of the Institute, including Piper. She was worried that if the Institute had anyone to come after next, it would be her. Now she was fearless, and she'd put her life on the line to tell the people the truth more than once before, but Piper wasn't just worried about herself. It was Nat she was really concerned for."

Nate's eyes twitched, following along the story. "So that's why she skipped town… You think she went into hiding."

"Exactly," Nick said. "When I went snooping around that bunker there weren't any scratch marks or signs that Piper had been trying to escape - hell, there was a spare key in her pocket that worked with the lock. It was a nice set up too; Piper had everything she needed to live down there for weeks - food, water, ammo, turrets. There was no way she managed to stock up all that alone. Piper did well for herself as writer in a city, but not that well. She had help making herself disappear, someone she trusted more than anyone else, someone with the means to sponsor her little stay in the woods."

"And you think that person is me," Nate concluded. "And you think the person who helped her hide would be the same person who killed her, since no one else would have known where she was - ergo, you think I killed her."

"Bingo," Nick said. 

Nate sighed, slumping back against a tree. "Nick, as much as I admire your skills as a detective, the evidence you've provided is circumstantial." He said. "I won't deny that I have an over abundance of caps, and Piper trusted me more than just about anyone else, but you're still missing one key thing here - why would I kill her? She was my girlfriend."

"And that's just what you were banking on, wasn't it?" Nick accused. "Why would anyone suspect you - the two of you were like a couple of sweethearts pulled straight from a 2050s romance flick. All you had to do was play the part of the grieving lover for a few days and then disappear for a little while."

Nate narrowed his eyes, expression soured and irate. He opened his mouth to argue, but Nick didn't want to hear it. "All that is besides the point. I don't need to know why you killed her. All I need is proof that you did," Nick said, "Hard evidence."

"Evidence that you do not have," Nate pointed out. 

"Not yet," Nick said, reaching into his coat pocket. He pulled out a key with a Vault Tech ornament attached to the chain. Covering eyes of the tiny vault man was the number "2" stamped on in old-world ink. "This was the key I found in Piper's pocket. It's a copy, a spare, and I'm wiling to bet that whoever did her in has the original." Nate snarled and Nick felt the place where his heart should be skip. "It's been over a week since you've stopped by Sanctuary or any of the other settlements where you offload your crap. I checked. I'm willing to bet you still have the key on you-" 

"Nick, this is ridiculous," Nate said with a roll of his eyes. "Even if you don't find the key on me that won't prove my innocence."

"But if I do find it, it prove at the very least you lied when you said you didn't know where she was, and if that were the case then you should have known all along that body the guards found wasn't her," Nick said. 

The pair stared at each other, both knowing exactly how this would end yet neither wanting to initiate the final move. Soft sounds of woodland life filled in the gap in their standoff. Nick found his nerve after twenty full seconds and spoke. 

"Empty your pockets."

"This is stupid." 

"Turn out your pockets, Nate," Nick said, this time far more sternly. 

"It wasn't me!" He insisted. "Anyone could have killed her! She was hiding from the Institute after all-" 

Nick unholdered his gun. "Nate, don't make me do this," He said, putting the wide-eyed man's head in his sights. "Just turn out your pockets, nice and slow."

Nate stared at Nick as if he had never seen the synth before in his life. If Nick hadn't destroyed their friendship before, this was likely the last straw. He didn't want what he said to be true, but part of him hoped to God he was right. He'd crossed a line here and he knew there was no going back if this was all just a mistake. Slowly, Nate's hand reached down into his jeans. He dug around in his right pocket for a moment before pulling his hand back out, fingers curled around something small. Nate opened his palm to reveal a keychain labeled '#1' over a Vault Man fob. 

Nick lowered his gun, opening his hand to accept the damning key from Nate. There was no denying it now. Even if the keychain was some sort of astronomically improbable coincidence, Nick's optical sensors were sensitive enough to detect every groove in the key's body - it was identical to the one Nick had found on Piper. He looked between the metal object and his supposed-friend, waiting for an explanation. In spite of everything, Nick silently begged for Nate to prove him wrong. 

Come on, Nate, work with me here, Nick thought. Tell me I'm wrong. Give me an explanation, something I don't know, something obvious I've overlooked. Give me some new evidence, some new lead - promise to help me find whoever killed Piper and bring them to justice. Just please, don’t be you.

Nate continued to stare at Nick, expression unreadable. His anger he’d shown before had died off into an almost calm, pestered look. Silence dragged on between them for a full eighty-four seconds, the numbers ticking up in the back of Nick’s head. Finally, Nate’s shoulders dropped, and the thin line of his mouth fell into a disgusted frown.

“Really? You couldn’t have waited, like, a month before doing this?” 

Nick was struck by the shift in tone. Nate wasn’t upset any more - if he ever really had been - but instead just seemed bothered by Nick, as if the synth had interrupted his afternoon with some trivial nonsense. Nick couldn’t keep the shock from his face. 

“Does that mean you really did it?” Nick said, unable to stop himself. “You murdered Piper?” 

Nate arched a brow at his former friend. “I thought you already figured that out, detective,” He said mockingly. “Yes, Nick. I killed Piper. Everything happened exactly as you said it did, down to the last detail. Congrats, you solved the case - serves me right for palling around with a cop.” 

Nick realized well after the fact that his mouth was open. Dread flooded his system as he went over the words Nate said, replaying the admission a thousand times in his head in a desperate bid to find some meaning other than the obvious. “Why?” He said when he could finally get his mouth around the words. “How could you do it, Nate? She was your friend - your partner. She trusted you!” 

Nate had the audacity to roll his eyes at Nick. “Why do you care? She was annoying anyways.”

Nick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How could this be the same man who had rescued him from the Triggermen? The man who’d been helping him work through cases for almost two months now - who’d helped him track down Eddie Winter and put the old Nick’s fiancé to rest? A part of him wondered if Nate had been switched out by the Institute, because surely to God Nick couldn’t have been so thoroughly fooled for so long.

But he knew that wasn’t true. The Nate in front of him was the same Nate Nick had always known. The same man who killed Skinny Malone and Darla while saving Nick's life. The man who had gunned down the entire settlement of Covenant while rescuing Stockton's daughter from fanatics. The same Nate who had burst out laughing and applauded when Nick put his foot down on Winter's chest and nailed him between the eyes. Nate had always been this way. Cunning, smart, charming, sadistic, cruel. Some detective he was - Nick had been overlooking the obvious this whole time. Nate was a monster. 

“You’re sick,” Nick hissed, anger winning out over hurt and betrayal. He dropped the key and raised his pistol to take aim again.  “I ought to shoot you now before you cause any more harm.”

Nate laughed, a choked, manic sound. His head turned to the side and he squinted at Nick. “Oh come on, don’t be like that,” Nate said. “We can still be friends, you know?” 

“I’m not your friend,” Nick spit, “apparently I never was. Friends don’t murder each other’s friends because they’re ‘annoying’ them.” 

Nate sighed in a harsh, irritated breath. “You’re overreacting,” He told Nick. Nate turned around, completely unphased by the barrel of Nick’s gun pointed at his temple, and began packing up his camping supplies. “Come on. Let’s just forget this whole thing and move on. She’s dead now - shooting me won’t bring her back, you know.”

“Shut the hell up you goddamn physcopath” Nick snapped. “The only reason I haven’t put a bullet in you yet is because you’re going to come back to Diamond City with me and face justice there.” 

“Really?” Nate said as he smothered the campfire with dirt and stones. “Does Diamond City even have a judicial system? Even before everything went all martial law it seemed to run on a system of ‘do what we say or get shot.’”

Nick ignored him. He’d come to the conclusion that anything he said to Nate would be brushed off or disregarded completely. Nate didn’t seem to grasp the severity of what he'd done, and Nick was beginning to realize that nothing he said would make him understand. There wasn’t a shred of decency in that bastard that wasn’t a put-upon performance. 

Nick marched up beside Nate and snatched the man by the wrist. Nate looked at the metal skeleton of a hand clutching his arm, then up at Nick with a curious expression. 

“You’re coming with me, whether you like it or not,” Nick said sternly. 

“I really don’t know what you think you’re accomplishing by doing this,” Nate said calmly.

“You know what? I don’t really give a damn what you think,” Nick said. “You either follow me back to Diamond City or get shot in the head and dragged back as a corpse - either way is fine by me.”

Nate snatched his wrist back, throwing Nick’s hand off with a force Nick hadn’t realized a human was capable of. Nate shot the detective a skeptical look. “You’re not going to shoot me,” He said confidently. 

“The hell I won't!” Nick said, raising his gun once again to level with Nate’s skull - this time the barrel sat less than an inch from his forehead. Nate knocked the gun away with a casual swipe of his hand. 

“No, you won’t,” Nate said, reaching down to grab his sleeping back that he had rolled back up into its case. “You’re not a killer, Nick - I’ve never seen you shoot someone who wasn’t shooting at you first. Face it, you’re just not built for this.”

Nick grit his teeth, eyes locked with Nate for a moment before the latter turned and continued packing up. His finger tightened around the trigger, hands trembling. Why couldn't he shoot? Was there some sort of calibration error in his circuits? 

Finally, with the last of his items packed up, Nate turned his back to the detective and began walking off back towards sanctuary. “Whenever you get over this come find me, ‘kay?” He said with a dismissive wave. “I got a pretty interesting radio call from an old friend of yours up north. Seemed like he had a case for you, and I'd love to tag along. I'd be willing to check it out with you if you can manage to keep your pistol in your pocket.”

Nick watched as Nate pushed his way through the forest, stepping over brambles and bushes to clear out. His head was lined up in Nick’s sight, but he didn’t seem to care, because Nate was just that confident that Nick Valentine was not going to shoot him in the back. 

Nick lowered the gun just a fraction. Nate was right about him, Nick wasn’t a murderer. Not in his previous life, and not in this one. Despite how much the post-apocalypse had tried to break him down, Nick had always stuck by his morals. Everyone deserved a chance to become a better person, and justice cannot be found by gunning down defenseless people. Even Eddie Winter had pulled a gun on him first during their standoff in his bunker. 

“Hey, Mister Valentine!!”

Nick turned, mouth open and chopsticks full of noodles in the air. The young girl in a pink coat looked up at him; she was new in town, if Nick recalled. Barely old enough to be out of school and already trying to start up her own paper company. The news was one of the old Nick’s guilty pleasures - as yellow as journalism was back then, it was nice to sit down with a paper and read about what was happening in the world. Nick had been rather thrilled to hear someone was trying to bring it back. 

“Hi there,” He said, putting down his bowl on the counter. “I don’t believe we’ve met yet.”

“Piper Wright, chief writer of the Public Occurrences. Yes, I know the name's ironic, ” She popped up onto the bar stool next to Nick. Amazingly, she hadn’t seemed bothered at all by Nick’s half-empty bowl or his metal hand - he was used to the first one or two meetings with people being riddled with uncomfortable questions and staring. 

“Good to make your acquaintance, Piper,” Nick said, tipping his hat politely. Very few people liked to shake hands with a synth, he’d learned. “The name’s Nick Valentine, local private eye.”

Piper smiled like he’d just announced himself as a wealthy corporate heir here on holiday. “I’ve seen the signs,” She said, twirling a pen between her fingers. “I was hoping to ask you a few questions for our latest issue.”

Nick tried not to let his discomfort show. Him and questions were almost never a pleasant pair if he wasn’t the one asking. His past was a touchy subject, especially now that the Institute was becoming a major threat, and if people weren’t asking him about that, their questions typically centered around his anatomy in a far too personal way - he could hardly imagine what queries would pop up in the mind of a post-adolescent girl. Still, the kid looked excited, and she was being professional about this. Besides, if things got out of hand he could always excuse himself and head back to the office. 

So, Nick shrugged and said, “Sure, Piper, I got a few minutes.”

“Thanks!” She squeaked, snatching a notepad from her pocket and clicking her pen. Nick braced himself for whatever questions came next. “So word on the street is you were recently in Goodneighbor for a case,” Piper started. “Can you give me a statement on the current state of affairs in Diamond City’s delinquent sister town?”

Nick blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that. “Oh, um,” He said, wracking his memory for the case she was talking about. Lately his memory had been getting harder and harder to sort through. Nick didn’t know how long he was built to last, but he was sure he was well past his warranty. Finally, Nick pulled up details about his trip. He took another second to skim through the less appropriate sections and put together his response. “The place is doing a lot better now that Hancock is in charge,” he said. “There’s a couple of shops set up now that keep the doors open, and you’re a lot less likely to get stabbed if you turn your back on the wrong guys. I even heard they’re putin’ together a Neighborhood Watch, similar to what we got here in Diamond City.”

Piper nodded, scribbling on her pad in barely-legible letters. Nick paused to let her catch up, watching her absorb herself in her work. He wondered if that was what he looked like when he was pouring over case files. 

The interview lasted for over an hour, ending with Nick inviting Piper over to the Dugout Inn to introduce her to the Bobrov brothers (and to treat the skinny orphan girl to a meal.) Never once did she mention his synthetic nature, nor did she ask about his past. Part of him knew she was biding her time, there was that journalistic glint in her eye that hinted at a deep curiosity, but she was polite enough to save the more personal questions for later. It was the first time in a while Nick had been treated so much like a person. 

Nick pulled the trigger. 

The shot rang out louder than any he'd fired before. The bullet nailed Nate in the back of the head, causing him to lurch forward as he fell face first into the forest floor. The leaves settled; Nate didn't move. Nick lowered his pistol, staring at the body of a man he'd mistakenly thought was his friend. The sound of the shot reverberated through the woods, bouncing off trees and echoing in Nick's auditory processors. 

The gun ended up back his holster, barrel of the crude pipe-pistol still trailing up smoke. Nick looked at the man face down in the dirt, letting his visual systems perform a cursory scan for signs of life. Not even a twitch. Nick ran his good hand over his face and sighed. 

"Christ," he muttered, fingers curled in frustration and dragged them down his face. "Damn… shit." 

Nick looked back at the body, feeling nothing for the monster he'd gunned down. He pulled the rim of his hat down over his eyes and turned around, ready to walk back towards town. 

Nate laughed. 

Nick's walk of shame came to a sudden halt; the sound of leaves rustling as Nate pulled himself up off the ground filled the air. "Well shit," He said, hand coming up to touch the blood on his forehead. Dark red lines ran down his face, staining his lips and they curled up in a smile. "You think you know a guy…" 

Nick barely had time to react. He turned around just in time to be tackled by the impossibly fast man. He didn't even have his gun out of the holster - Nick reached up and raked his metal claw of a right hand across Nate's face, aiming for the eyes. He pushed Nate off of him, scrambling to get to his feet. He wasn't built for combat, but he could slow down his processors to give himself an edge over most biological opponents. It did almost nothing against Nate; the man was inhuman in his movements. Nick got his gun in hand but before he could fire off another shot Nate had him by the wrists, yanking the synth's arms painfully back against the socket. Nick yelled and was forced to drop his weapon. 

The two broke apart from their death grapple, Nate panting and Nick reeling internally to keep up. The man's black hair ran down from his tied-back hair, sticking to the blood on his face in frizzed clumps. Nate chuckled, still gasping for air. He reached into his jacket for a pair of brass knuckles with home-make spikes. "So," Nate snarled, "this really how you want to go out?" 

"If it's the last thing I ever do, Nate, you're going to pay for what you did to Piper," the synth hissed. Nick lunged at Nate, aiming for his neck. Nate shrugged off the attack with a side step and an elbow to Nick's torso. Nate wrapped both hands around each other and slammed down on Nick's shoulder, throwing him off balance before pinning him to the ground. Nick turned, scrambling for his discarded gun. The brass knuckles came down on Nick's jaw, tearing the synthetic skin and damaging the delicate machinery there. Nick grunted, but managed to get his fingers around his pistol. He turned, propping himself up by his elbow to unload his last 5 shots into Nate's chest and neck. Nick might as well have been shooting a wall for all the good it did. 

The brass knuckles came back down on Nick's jaw again and again, knocking the synth flat on his back. Nick's sensors screamed in warning, flooding his mind with signals that half of his face had been torn away. He felt the sting and the cold of his skeletal jaw exposed to the elements. Nate hovered over him as he reeled from the damage, panting hard as he rose back to his feet. 

Nate took advantage of Nick's sensory overload to bring his foot down on the synth's chest, tearing through his undershirt and exposing his synthetic plates. He kicked away the plastic there as if Nick were little more than a can of cram. Nick tried to scramble back on the heels of his hands, but Nate's foot came down on the freshly-exposed wires of his chest, the pressure pinning him down and flooding his system with agony. 

Nick cried out. There was no helping the involuntary response. His insides were far more sensitive to damage than his outsides, and his systems translated that through his neural network as pure agony. Nate seemed to delight at the newly discovered weak point in the synth; he ground down with his heel, tearing the wires out of place and snapping delicate components. Nick choked on a scream. 

"I really didn't want things to end this way, Nick," Nate chided. "It's not too late to go back to the way we were." The offer was followed by a jerk of Nate's foot, digging deeper into Nick's wires and an agonizing, overly-full feeling in Nick's middle. Nick grit his teeth, raising his head to glare at the man who had him pinned. 

"Go to hell!" Nick spit. 

Nate shrugged. "Ah well, have it your way." His foot yanked back, ripping several wires out from Nick's center. Coolant flooded his system and his vision blinked. Before Nick could react, Nate stomped down directly on his power core, cracking the casing with an electric jolt through Nick's system. He couldn't remember a single instance of pain worse than the feeling of electricity freely flowing through him, energy fading fast as every single internal system shorted and failed at once. Nick seized, sputtering and jerking as Nate kicked down again, cracking his core and initiating Nick's final shutdown procedures. 

Critical failure imminent, entering semi-permanent hibernation. Shutting down higher processes. 

The last thing Nick saw before the world went dark was Nate staring down at him, smiling and laughing as the lights went out in Nick's eyes. 

---

Nick’s processors came back online as if not a single second had passed since he was put down. The stiffness and rust in his joints begged to differ. 

"What on earth…?" he dragged a hand down his face, eyes still closed. He flinched when he felt the part of his face that had been torn off courtesy of Nate's strong left hook. He could only imagine what he looked like now. Nick blinked, but his optics weren't functioning yet, so it just made the darkness he experienced all the more prominent. "Hello? Anyone there?" 

"Nah, you're just imagining me," A new voice rang from Nick's side. A hand rested on his shoulder, urging Nick to stay laid down. "Turns out synths can go schizo too."

Nick furrowed his brow. He recognized the voice. "Deacon?" 

"Bingo! Get the synth a prize!" the sound of Deacon's laughter filled the room 

It had been a long time since he'd seen the man. Nick was one of the few people Deacon couldn't fool with his disguises - thanks in part to Nick's advanced optics - so it gave Nick the unique opportunity to befriend the man who knew everyone in the Commonwealth but no one had ever really met. So far, Nick hadn't been tempted to take up on that offer. It wasn't that he disliked the man or thought he was a bad guy (in fact, Nick was almost positive he was pretty high up in the Railroad, which was a cause he could get behind as an escaped synth himself) it was just that when he wasn't putting on an act Deacon was… well, annoying. 

Regardless, Nick would put up with him for now. It appeared the man of mysteries had saved Nick's life, since there didn't seem to be anyone else around and the last thing Nick recalled was having his power core crushed by a megolomaniacal jackass.  

Nate. 

"Shit," Nick muttered, hand over his bare mouth. He hated the way he could feel his teeth against his palm. "Nate… that bastard got away."

"Heh, yeah, he sure did…" There was something deeply depressing hidden behind those words. Nick felt a tug on something in his chest and his systems threatened to power off again. He sucked in a breath reflexively - a hold over from his lost humanity. 

"The fusion core should be able to support basic operations on this unit," A new voice, this one far more curt and masculine than Deacon's. Nick frowned at being referred to as a 'unit' - then remembered he didn't have the synthetic muscles to do that any more. Christ, no wonder the new guy didn't think he was a person - depending on how much damage there was there might not be much left that separated Nick from the mindless Institute drones appearance-wise. 

Vanity aside, there was something else more important in what had just been said. 

"Fusion core?" Nick said, turning to face the direction of the voice. "Are you tellin' me I'm running on fusion power right now?"

"Affirmative," the clinical voice said after a brief hesitation. "I am adapting your systems to accommodate for the change in source power. There are a few more optimisations that need to be in place before you are functioning at full capacity." Nick felt a hand in the hole of his chest redirecting the wires. 

"Right - and who are you again?" Nick said, leaning his head back against what he assumed was a table. "Not to be ungrateful, but I prefer to at least know the name of the guy performing system wide changes to my person."

Deacon snorted. "That's fair - I prefer it if the guy at least buys me a drink before rooting around in my insides," Deacon said. Silence filled the room until he decided to answer the question for the other man. "This is Paladin Danse - he's another one of Nate's discarded 'pet projects'." 

"Former Paladin," Danse corrected. Paladin? So he was Brotherhood, then? That explained his expertise with fusion technology, and his stiffness about talking with a synth. Danse unscrewed the casing around Nick's central nervous system. Nick grit his teeth at the buzz it gave him, but apparently auxiliary power didn't reach his diagnostic system, so he was spared from the worst of the pain. 

"Pet projects?" Nick prompted. "What has that bastard been up to since he tried to off me."

"I'd say he more than 'tried'," Deacon said. "You've been offline for the better part of two years, old friend." 

Nick started, emotions churning under his exhausted systems. "Two years?" he said. Deacon made a noise of conformation. 

"Welcome to the year of 2289, bud! Diamond City is a police state, Goodneighbor is back to complete and total anarchy, and just about everywhere else is some degree of hell-on-earth - and we owe it all to our mutual sociopathic murder-friend." Deacon's voice was as cheerful as ever, but there was a undercurrent of cynicism that Nick didn't recognize in the man. Something had changed for Deacon personally in the past two years. It seemed for a moment that Deacon wasn't going to elaborate, but thankfully Danse took over for him. 

"Deacon told me that you and Nate were close before he turned on you," He said as he messed with Nick's insides. "It is my understanding that he murdered someone one who was… friends… with you?" Nick could hear the many, many levels of discomfort this man had over talking to a synth. Guess you could take the man out of the Brotherhood… Deacon must have given Danse a crash course on synth rights, since the former Paladin was at least willing to operate on him and explain the bare minimum of what was going on. What a member of the Railroad was doing hanging around with a Brotherhood soldier  - ex or not - was it's own mystery. 

"He did," Nick answered the question posed to him. "Piper. A reporter from Diamond City. They'd been dating for a couple months, but I guess he got bored and decided that a break up was just too much work, so he killed her." Nick's voice was spitting with malice by the time he reached the end of his story. He felt the hands inside of him twitch as he spoke - an emotional response. 

"I'm… sorry for your loss," Danse said, clearly uncomfortable with a synth expressing emotions. "Nate has ruined a lot of lives, and ended even more prematurely."

"The guy's a downright bastard," Deacon agreed. 

Danse continued. "Deacon informed me of your history with Nate because he believes it may make you a valuable asset-" 

"Ally," Deacon corrected. 

"-to our cause."

"And what cause would that be?" Nick asked. 

"We're gonna take that Sole Surviving fuck down," Deacon said darkly. Something about the man had definitely changed, there wasn't a doubt about it left in Nick's head. 

"Ambitious goals," Nick raised a brow. "Can't imagine how much use a barely-functioning old synth will be, but if there's any way I can help you can count me in. I made a promise to Piper that I intend to keep."

"Excellent," Danse said. He twisted something in Nick's spine and his eyes flickered to life. His vision was duller than before, almost like he was looking through an old terminal rendering, but at least he could see again. Power began flooding his limbs and Nick felt energy surge through him unabated. "Is this sufficient for basic functions?" Danse asked. 

"Might be a bit much, actually" Nick admitted, testing out a flick of his wrist. The motion was faster than he wanted. Danse nodded and adjusted the settings. While he worked Nick thought of something. "Stop me if I'm wrong, but wouldn't we be better off teaming up with one of your two 'connections' to take down Nate?"

The pair shared an uncomfortable look between the two and Nick felt his heart (or whatever counted for it) sink. 

"If it's the Brotherhood you are referring to," Danse said, voice low, "then that would be impossible. They're gone."

"Same with the Railroad," Deacon said, looking away from them both. 

"Gone?" Nick asked. He flinched as one of his wires was snipped. "What do you mean gone?" After the entrance they made into the Commonwealth, Nick didn't exactly expect the Brotherhood to just pack up and leave quietly. And as for the Railroad… 

"We mean gone, Nick," Deacon said. "As in gone, destroyed, deceased, dead, departed, no longer in existence." Nick stared at Deacon. There was a barely noticeable tremor in the man's arms; Deacon wasn't the type to get emotional, but that didn't mean he didn't have emotions. As far as Nick could tell, the Railroad had been Deacon's family, likely the only people who actually knew him as himself and not as some alternate persona. 

"Jesus. I'm sorry," Nick said to the man. Deacon shrugged. 

"The Brotherhood was eliminated as well - taken down from the inside by Nate," Danse continued as he finished up the adjustments to Nick's new core. "He was granted an honorary emergency Knighthood in the hope that he would assist us in infiltrating and neutralizing the Institute."

"An honorary Knighthood?" Nick said skeptically. "I've never known the Brotherhood to be particularly liberal with their granting of titles."

"He had… assistance in acquiring Brotherhood support," Danse said, voice thick with an attempt to hide his guilt. "Among the ranks of the Brotherhood there was a synth infiltrator - Nate befriended him- it- and used the connection to get closer to Elder Maxon." Nick felt the excess of power ebb and sighed, allowing the ex-soldier to replace his chest plate before sitting up. 

"Mhmm," Deacon hummed as Danse finished his story. "And are you going to mention the fact that the 'synth infiltrator' was you, or should I?" 

Nick had to admit - he hadn't seen that coming. He looked back at the ex-Paladin, whose teeth were grit and eyes firmly planted on the ground. He would have never guessed the man was a synth - judging by the look on his face, neither had he. Being the way Nick was had its drawbacks, but at least he never had any delusions about his synthetic nature. This poor bastard must have just found out recently. 

"I was unaware of my status at the time," Danse said, confirming Nick's theory. "However, that is no excuse. Subconsciously, I must have been aware that my actions would lead to the destruction of the Brotherhood. After I avenge them, I fully intend to face the consequences of my betrayal - unintentional though it was."

"Oh come on, man," Deacon whined with a roll of his eyes, "you're not some kind of Institute sleeper-agent. Nate tricked you. He tricked all of us."

"That's one theory," Danse said, packing up his tools. Nick threw his legs over the side of the table and tried his hand at standing up, thankful that despite lacking a shirt he still had his pants, which made the process far more dignified than it would have been without them. His internal gyroscope was offline, giving him a sense of synthetic vertigo. He kept a hand on the workbench, adjusting to his new stage of being.

"How long is the fusion core going to last?" Nick asked. He was under no delusion about the state of his body. Fusion cores were more like batteries than the self-sustaining generator his previous core was - the average core could keep power armor going for about half a day at most. Nick was far less energy-intensive than a suit of armor, but there was no telling how his systems would react in the long term. His life expectancy had at least been cut in half, likely more than that.

"It's hard to say," Danse told him. "It can be replaced, and will most likely have to be changed out rather frequently.”

“How frequently are we talkin’ here?” Nick asked. 

“There’s no way of knowing for sure,” Danse admitted. “Because you weren't designed for fusion power there's no way to gage the charge without removing it."

"Fantastic," Nick grumbled, already imagining a life of constant, unpredictable shut downs. Still, better than being dead, he supposed. 

Danse handed Nick a shirt and his coat and hat, all of which he gratefully accepted. Covering up his new chest wound was a start to feeling back to his normal self, but one glance at his face in Deacon’s sunglasses said that he was going to have to take up wearing scarves if he ever wanted to feel a shred of dignity again. 

“So,” Nick said, still rubbing at the metal now taking up the space where his jaw should be. “What’s the plan for putin’ Nate on ice?” 

Deacon smiled, as though laughing at his own internal joke. “Heh. Ice. Funny you should mention that…”

[joezworld]

Fools in Love (5/10)

James And The Diesel Engine

1978

When 46 040 had declared that she would become friends with James, nobody in the sheds had really believed it.

James was vain, occasionally pompous, and immensely suspicious of diesel traction. It was a minor miracle that Bear and BoCo had been accepted by him, and Gordon speculated that it was due to the fact that neither engine was in a role that would displace the red engine.

040 on the other wheel, was in direct competition with him - right down to her shiny red paint. The big diesel had been eager to prove her worth, and had gladly accepted any work that the Fat Controller had given her. This meant that for most of the past year, there had been two red mixed traffic engines on Sodor.

Naturally, James was quite upset by this - he felt that he was being supplanted instead of supported, and tried valiantly to make 040 go away.

Unfortunately for James, 040 was determined to make a friend out of him, and treated him and everyone else with an almost impenetrable level of charm and good cheer that soon ingratiated herself with the other engines.

“She is of good stock.” Gordon said when she came up in discussion.

“A hard worker” was Duck’s assessment.

“Aye, if more diesels were like ‘er, the other railway would work a treat!” This from Douglas - high praise considering his well established and totally understandable dislike of diesels.

When he first met 040, he’d growled at her to ‘stay away’, and after a moment’s reflection, she’d apologized.

“What MPD were you at?” She’d asked after he’d growled at her.

“Glasgow - Eastfield.” He’d replied after a confused moment.

“Yeah, that figures.” She sighed ruefully. “I’m sorry, by the way. They only had enough of the “I hate steam engine” bits for the 45s, so us 46s and 44s never quite understood why everyone was so eager to replace you. Well, everyone except Spamcan, but he’s an arse to everyone.”

“Aye?” Douglas was very surprised.

“Of course. We tried to make them be nice - they certainly didn’t need to be so vicious about it - but once they know you care - well, it’s said that you can smell weakness in someone’s exhaust, so we weren’t treated much better than you were.”

“I... had no idea. Do they truly do that? There’s no’ even unity amongst diesels?”

“Not a whit. At least, not in the Midlands. Don’t worry though - they’re getting what’s coming to them. All three of us Peak classes are ‘non-standard’ now, so they’ll see what it’s like to be on the wrong side of progress soon enough.” Her tone was not light, but neither was it overly dark. She clearly had private opinions on the subject that she wanted to keep private. 

Douglas stared at the big diesel with newfound respect.

James soon found himself in the minority of opinions about 040. His resolve began to waver when she would cheerfully keep her composure even in the midst of a heated argument.

“You’re wrong and I can prove it!”

“How?”

“You haven’t got a boiler! You wouldn’t understand what boiler sludge feels like!”

“Ah! That’s where you’re wrong my steam-powered friend! I do have a boiler - for steam heating! I know exactly what boiler sludge feels like!”

“Cinders and Ashes you are impossible! Why are you so cheerful?!”

“I like arguing with you Jamie, it’s fun!”

“Jamie??!”

-----

One morning, the Fat Controller arrived in the sheds with some important news:

“The Thin Clergyman and his son will be visiting the island once again!” He declared cheerfully.

The engines were surprised. “I thought that he had retired from writing?” Gordon said.

“He has,” explained the Fat Controller. “But his son has decided to follow in his father’s footsteps and will be writing books of his own.”

Most of the engines were excited, but 040 was decidedly not. As soon as the Fat Controller left, her face fell into an uncharacteristic scowl. “I am not appearing in those fucking books.” She said menacingly.

This was arguably more surprising than the news of the Thin Clergyman’s arrival.

“Whyever not?” Asked Henry, who was quite pleased to have stories written about him.

“None of you know this,” She grimaced. “But the only more damaging thing than those books was the fucking Beeching Report! When he wrote about that 08 that tried to cause trouble for Duck, he might as well have thrown a bomb into every yard in the country! Everyone was either saying that we diesels were evil masterminds or that steam engines were idiotic dupes! There was zero civility between engines! Friendships ended! Lives were ruined! Locomotives were scrapped over this! I wasn’t even built then and I still have been forced to deal with it!”

She laughed at the jaw-dropped stares of the other engines. None of them had been on the mainland at that time, and they had no idea of the trouble that had gone on.

“And then there’s one-nine-nine! That nincompoop has gotten every one of us Peaks called a Spamcan! And that’s impressive considering there’s three different classes of us! I didn’t even know what Spam was before that book!”

Silence fell over the sheds for a good while.

“I had no idea...” Gordon eventually said in a small voice.

“I know.” 040 said as she slowly regained her cheery demeanor. “And that’s okay. But I really do not want to be in the books.”

“What’s this about books?” James had been out on an early stopper train, and had missed everything.

“Oh nothing Jamie, do you want to have an argument?”

“No! and stop calling me that!”

“Great! So I think we are actually having an argument right now, but what’s your take on it...?”

-----

The Thin Clergyman arrived onboard Gordon’s express, and was given a warm welcome by the Fat Controller at Tidmouth. Fortunately for 040, Gordon had been able to pass the word on with an earlier train, and she was able to flee the station before the author arrived.

The next week of her life was not unlike a scene from the Benny Hill Show - wherever 040 went, the Thin Clergyman and his son followed.

She ran a parcels train to Barrow - the Thin Clergyman was waiting on the next platform,

She hid behind the Works, only to find his Son riding on Skarloey’s footplate,

At Haltraugh she tried to hide behind Duck - with exactly as much success as one would expect,

The two men starting interviewing engines in the shed, and she was forced to hide amongst the coaches in the yard,

Thomas’ driver unexpectedly fell ill at Tidmouth, and she leapt at the chance to take his train - despite being longer than Annie and Clarabel put together! She made it as far as Elsbridge before curious trainspotters began flocking to take her picture, and she beat a hasty retreat to the main line just before the Clergyman arrived,

The engines at the Kirk Ronan branch were quite annoyed when she tried to squeeze into their shed - she was so big that the door wouldn’t shut!

Planned track work meant that one of the Ballahoo tunnels was closed, and she bluffed her way onto the work train so she could sleep in it. This was an effective hiding spot, until she told Henry, who laughed so loudly that the Thin Clergyman heard the entire story from across the yard,

She even tried sleeping in the electric branch sheds at Peel Godred, but was not only glared at by the very antisocial locomotives who lived there, but also had to hide from both the Thin Clergyman and His Son when they came to see the Culdee Fell Railway.

Finally, there was nowhere left to run - she had managed to find all of these hiding spots while still doing her jobs, but today she was the ‘relief’ engine at Knapford, which meant that she had to sit in the yard all day in case another engine failed.

In full view of the station building.

At midday,  James bustled in with a load of vans for Thomas’ branch line.

“What are you so anxious about?” He asked 040 with a mixture of scorn and surprise. The annoying red diesel was looking positively frantic as her eyes scanned the station building. It was most unlike her.

“Jamie! Hide me!” She hissed as James’ driver uncoupled the vans.

“What?”

“Hide me! Quickly!”

“Why?”

“The Clergyman! He’s right there in the station!”

James looked over, and sure enough, the Thin Clergyman and his son were sitting down to lunch in the station café. “Why?”

“Because he might write something about me!” 040 was frantic.

James was baffled, but remembered Gordon mentioning something about some engines not wanting to be written about. He’d assumed that Edward was just being introverted again, but perhaps there was more to it than that...

He was tempted to do the exact opposite - to blow his whistle, attract attention, and pay back the loudmouth diesel for all of her arguments and nicknames, but when he looked back at her, he realized that 040 was frightened of the Thin Clergyman.

James was many things, but sadistic wasn’t one of them, and he ran around his train and shunted the vans so that 040 was almost entirely obscured from sight.

“Thank you!” She whispered as he backed away.

“Keep it dark,”  He hissed back. “I have a reputation to uphold. And I’ll try and draw his attention to me so he doesn’t go looking for you.”

“Shouldn’t be too much of a problem for you.” She said with a small smile. “You always are the centre of attention!”

James smiled back as he backed into the yard proper, doing his best to make as much noise as he could until he came to a stop at the far end of the yard - as far away from 040 as possible.

His plan worked flawlessly. The Clergyman and his son had been so engrossed in their meal that they hadn’t noticed that any engine was there at all, and quickly made their way across the yard.

Unlike 040, James was always pleased to have someone write about him, and spent the better part of an hour answering the Clergyman’s questions.

“There was one other thing I wanted to know, James.” The Clergyman’s son said after a while. “We’ve been told that there’s a new diesel on the Island, but we can’t seem to find him anywhere!”

“Her.” James corrected before he could stop himself.

“Her?”

In for a penny, in for a pound. “Yes. She’s a girl, and she’s quite shy.”

“Really?” The Clergyman said as he scribbled in his notebook. “Can you tell me about her? Or where she is?”

“I don’t want to talk about anyone behind their back...” James said, knowing exactly how often he did just that. “But I saw her going to the works a few hours ago. You might be able to find her there and ask her yourself.”

This pleased the Clergyman and his Son, and they immediately set off in their hire car for the works. James waited until they had vanished from sight before he called out: “They’re gone!”

“Thank God!” 040 shouted from across the yard.

“Don’t thank him! Thank me!” James called back.

“Thank you James! Really, I owe you one now.” James couldn’t see the diesel, but he could somehow tell that she was smiling.

----

040′s luck finally ran out on the last day of the Clergyman’s trip. She was rostered to pull the night express, and didn’t realize that the Thin Clergyman was going to be on board. She almost jumped off the rails when she saw him climbing the stairs to the platform, she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding when he entered the train, and her face fell when she realized that he was merely putting away his luggage before he got out of the train and walked up to her.

“Hello there! I haven’t seen you before!” He said jovially while admiring her paint and stripes.

“I’m new.” She said, trying to keep her tone somewhat polite. The ugly anger rising in the pit of her engine block was making that a very hard thing to do.

“I can see that - you have been quite hard to find!”

“Have I?”

“Very much so, but nevermind that. I was wondering if you would be willing to let myself and my son write about you? You see, we write books abou-”

“I know what your books are about.”

“Oh you do?” The Thin Clergyman said, not missing the sudden undertone in the diesel’s voice.

“Oh yes. And I’m not even talking about Spamcan.” She smiled viciously as the Thin Clergyman winced at that reference.

“Yes, well-”

“I’m not done. I'm talking about the other book you wrote. About the 08? The one that got more than a few engines killed?”

“What?” The author recoiled at the now-undisguised venom in 040′s voice.

“Of course you don’t know. You don’t care about diesels, just your precious steam engines.” She glared at him with undisguised malice. “Do me a favor - take that notebook and go fuck yourself with it - I will never be in one of your books.”

As she said that, the signal dropped, and the guard - who couldn’t see the Clergyman due to a porter’s trolley in the way - blew his whistle.

040 set off immediately, leaving the Thin Clergyman standing on the platform, taking his baggage with her.

-

When the Clergyman’s son started publishing his books several years later, 040 was nowhere to be seen in any of them.

[randomoranges]

part 2

goes after bleu comme le st-laurent and before rouge comme le sang qui nous passe à travers

Blanc comme l’hiver

July 4th 2021

 Edward lets out a content little sigh and twines his legs with Étienne’s. He’s forgotten how much he enjoys mornings like these where they lounge in bed, without a care in the world, and where lazy kisses turn to slow morning sex. He wishes, not for the first time, that the distances between Montréal and Edmonton wouldn’t be as big, if only to see his boyfriend more often. Still, he supposes that it’s gotten easier over the years, but he still would like to have more of these mornings in his life.

 “Hey,” He starts, a thought coming up to the surface of his happy daze to nag at him, “D’you think it’s cliché?” He asks, knowing full well that his question has come from nowhere and that Étienne will have no clue as to what he’s asking. His boyfriend gives him a questioning look and Edward smiles softly, before making himself comfortable against Étienne’s chest, ghosting his fingers over shamrocks and thistles alike. He’d reach for a rose or a lily, but they’re out of reach from this position.

 “Whenever we visit each other, it seems as though more often than not, the first thing we do is get into bed together.” He’d noticed it before and he’s noticed it now. It seemed that regardless of destination, after polite greetings, they’d end up naked in bed – and sometimes they’d get each other off elsewhere. It isn’t that he minds, far from it, but –

 He feels Étienne’s chest rumble with his quiet chuckle and looks up in time to see him grin down at him.

 “Nah, I don’t think so.” He replies, easy as that and starts tracing imaginary patterns on Edward’s back. It works, in a way, and soothes him for a moment. “The way I see it is – we haven’t seen each other in a long while when it happens. I missed you. You missed me. We both seem to be people who enjoy sex and we enjoy it with each other so it makes sense to go for it. We both want to – so, I don’t think there’s anything wrong or cliché about it.”

 He settles back against Étienne and ponders his words. He supposes his boyfriend has a point. He had missed Étienne. He just – doesn’t want Étienne to find him – predictable. Or find him boring. Old insecurities that keep resurfacing – nothing new there.

 “Promise I’d tell you if I didn’t want to and I’m hoping you’d do the same with me?”

 He nods, quick to assure him. They’re in a better place now – one where they use actual words to convey thoughts and emotions. It’s still a work in progress, but – they’re getting there, one trip at a time.

 “There, you see – not cliché. If it makes you feel better, I very much enjoyed what we did yesterday and this morning.” He presses a scraggly kiss to his cheek and Edward leans in afterwards to rub his face against Étienne’s beard. It feels good. Foreign yet familiar.

 Étienne chuckles at his antics, and just because he can, kisses him again.

 “What d’you want to do today?”

 There’s no game today, so they can spend the day whichever way they want and Edward would like to spend it here, in Étienne’s room, with Étienne holding him close. Yet, he knows his boyfriend will get restless, and quite frankly, so will he. Still, it’s a nice fantasy and he doesn’t mind indulging in it for a little longer.

 “What’s the weather supposed to be like?”

 “Hot and humidity will kick in.”

 Edward grimaces at that, but thankfully, Étienne has the means to deal with the extreme heat and humidity.

 “In that case, I want to get acquainted with your pool. Yesterday’s weather was inappropriate for that and we were otherwise busy.” They share a knowing laugh at that, but Edward makes no move to get out of bed just yet. “But, it doesn’t have to be right now either – perfectly fine where I am – cliché or not.”

 Étienne grinns and pulls him closer for a proper kiss.

 --

 It’s later, much later – perhaps hours and days and weeks later, when Edward finally steps out to the backyard. (But it couldn’t have been days and weeks later. The playoffs are still happening. This is just a minor break between maelstroms.)

 He gasps when he gets a proper look at the backyard and marvels at how different it looks from his last visit here.

 “Everything okay?” Étienne asks as he joins him, towels in one hand (one Habs, the other not), and a pitcher filled with ice and reusable water bottles in the other.

 “You weren’t kidding when you said you were fixing up the backyard!” It looks – completely different from any iteration of it he had ever seen. The only benchmark that reminds him that this was Étienne’s backyard is the giant maple tree in the far back, proving part of the yard with shade, the fence, the shed and the overall layout of the yard. Other than that, Edward could have passed it off as someone else’s place.

 “Ah, yeah, well, I figured I might as well invest in this place. I mean – it’s nice to have a decent place where you can unwind – or something?” He sounds a little unsure of himself, almost as if he’s embarrassed, as he puts the water and the towels down.

 There hadn’t been much to this space, back when Edward had visited it often. The shed, a rickety old white plastic table, two mismatched chairs, and an ashtray. The grass and whatever other greenery had been left at the mercy of Mother Nature and had suffered through heat waves and droughts alike. However, now, it’s lush, verdant and well maintained. Even the old tree looks in better shape than it ever did.

 There’s a small garden, by the looks of it, where once there’d been a half dead shrub, alongside the fence. It seems as though a small fruit tree has been added at the end of it, but it’s still too soon and he’s still too far to be able to tell what fruit it will bear. Even the shed, despite being the same as it was twenty years ago, seems to have gotten a second life, but it may just be the roof shingles that have been changed. There’s been laborious work put into this yard and it doesn’t stop there.

 The pool, on the other side, is obviously the biggest novelty to the place. An idea, much like many other people, born from last year’s lockdown that Étienne had decided to splurge on. He’d picked a semi-in ground pool and even though it isn’t the biggest of pools, it certainly would do the trick during the hot summer days. And of course, because it’s Étienne, he’d gone for a unique shape that fits perfectly with his backyard. There’d been more than one video call made from the comforts of his new pool and Edward had dreamed of being able to jump in it, while he’d suffered through the heat wave just last week.

 Back on the patio section, Étienne had finally retired his old table and chairs and had invested in something nicer that could accommodate a bigger crowd. The table and chairs seem sturdier and even more comfortable. The entire patio section, which is shaded off thanks to Étienne’s upstairs tenant own patio, has an air of coziness and comfort. He could easily picture his boyfriend lounging on his outdoor couch and start a small fire at night in his outdoor fireplace, or pull out the hammock in the sunnier section to lay in it, or maybe even sit in those impossible positions he often takes in his egg shaped hanging chair.

 “Life’s too short to have a shitty backyard,” He jokes and Edward looks back to his boyfriend and smiles softly at him. He sees beyond only this investment, but also sees how Étienne’s been slowly reinvesting in his own city in his own way. It’s still a work in progress, but Edward knows how careful Étienne has been in reinventing his own city. He’s proud – of him and of the progress he’s made and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever find the right words to express just how proud he is of Étienne.

 “Are those wild roses?” He asks to deflect from his own thoughts and emotions, as he makes his way closer to the plants and greenery that Étienne has planted, “And – marigolds?” He turns to face his boyfriend, disbelief evident as he takes in stock of what it is that’s been planted and that is growing. Once more, it seems, Étienne has managed to surprise him in his own way, with these quiet skills he’s kept to himself after all these years.

 “Maybe,” Étienne teases and joins his side. If his cheeks are a little pink, neither comment on it for now, “If it makes you feel better, I have the obligatory irises growing as well – their blooming season is over though.”

 They laugh, at the ridiculousness of the statement and stand side by side to watch the leaves sway gently in the breeze.

 “I realised,” Étienne starts again softly, playing with the string of his bathing suit, “That I enjoy puttering in the backyard. I don’t mind getting my hands dirty and it gives me something to focus on that isn’t one of the millions of problems running free in my head. It – grounds me, pardon the pun.” He puffs, self-amused and Edward takes his hand and laces their fingers together.

 “If you enjoy it, then I say, go for it.”

 Étienne gives him a brilliant smile in exchange and Edward’s insides go soft at the sight.

 He gets it though, the sometimes-mindless work of tending a garden that somehow takes you out of your own head. It’s why he’s always liked it. Gets him to think about what he’s doing and watching the garden grow and take shape is rewarding in its own way. Even if there are some issues he cannot fix in the world, he can still tend to his garden and watch it thrive and grow – problem solve when needed and see it flourish. He gets it, really.

 “So, how about that swim?” He asks, before the moment can grow heavy and change into something else entirely different. Étienne tugs on his hand gently and leads him back to where the pool eagerly awaits for them.

��FIN

[pop-culturereference]

Onward and Upward

ao3

Summary: At his internship with Hawks, Izuku was starting to feel burnt out.

He hadn't considered that Hawks was, too.

For @hawksweek2020 Day 2: Wholesome Gen

Characters: Hawks, Midoriya Izuku

Rating: G

Izuku’s clumsy maneuvering was not enough to keep up with Hawks as he zipped in and out of the traffic below. Instead, he kept himself high above with blasts from his gauntlets and looked for the streak of red wings to catch his eye. He saw it between one gust and the next and cut his action short to let himself fall. Right before landing, he flicked the air one more time so he wouldn’t crack the cement. His heavy boots clunked, but no cracks appeared. Victory! His control in the air was getting better. Still nowhere near Hawks’s, of course, but maybe even just straggling behind him these past 3 weeks of the internship was enough to learn what he needed.

A red feather flew by, and Izuku startled. He’d spent just a second to celebrate his progress, and he’d lost sight of Hawks. Feathers flew up from where they’d been handcuffing a villain, autographing everything from receipts to skin, and making swirling shapes for a bus of children. Izuku leapt up and flung himself after them. He groaned in frustration as the school of feathers took a sharp turn and disappeared, leaving him to skid to a stop on top of a building and run from edge to edge, looking for the feathers in desperation.

In the end, he couldn’t find them, and plopped himself down on a propane tank. He’d get going in a second, but he’d already fallen far enough behind that a five minute break to catch his breath was really no big deal, so he pulled out phone and scrolled through his messages. Uraraka had sent him a selfie of her and her mentor, Axis, the Flip Hero. They were standing upside down on a hot air balloon hundreds of feet in the air. Uraraka’s hair fell at her shoulders instead of hanging toward the ground. Cool! He responded with a “looks fun!!!” and switched to his notes app to type in some quick thoughts about Axis’s quirk. He answered his mom’s texts before moving on to Todoroki’s. 

“What!?” he yelled when he saw the picture Todoroki had sent him. It was Hawks, talking with the police alongside Endeavor, mid-gesture with one hand in the air and the other pushing his visor onto his forehead.  The next message read “where are you??”

He immediately replied with “SEND ME YOUR LOCATION ASAP” and shot to his feet to start heading east, the general direction of Endeavor’s agency.

Izuku wondered if Tokoyami’s internship last year was like this. Surely not—right?—or Tokoyami would have warned him! His legs ached, his eyes were dry and itchy from the wind, and his throat and chest burned from sucking in more air than he was used to, even after three weeks of it. He was camping out at Hawks’s agency for the duration of the internship, and every morning when he stumbled, sore and bleary, into the kitchen to grab his yogurt, Hawks’s sidekicks would smile at him sympathetically. Had everyone known Hawks was like this except for Izuku? He’d thought Gran Torino went too fast for him, but Hawks was on a whole new level.

His first day at the agency had been a little slower, Hawks showing him around and asking him about himself, where he was from, did he like the dorms at UA, oh yeah it’s a good thing those teachers prioritized the safety of students, that dang league of villains, did he have any idea why Shigaraki had it out for him and Kacchan specifically? And what was his favorite flavor of yogurt so they could keep it stocked in the fridge? Then they left on patrol, and Izuku had been going full speed just trying to keep up ever since.

His phone pinged with the location and he adjusted his course, mumbling a mantra of please still be there please still be there under his breath. How did Hawks get so far so quickly? Izuku pushed himself harder, not wanting to be left behind the rest of the day if he got there and Hawks was already gone. 

When Izuku skidded in, short of breath and clumsy with fatigue, Todoroki greeted him with a blunt “Hello,” and Hawks greeted him with “Midoriya-kun! There you are!” and a laugh. 

Hawks ducked his head and leaned toward Todoroki, dramatically shielding his mouth with a hand, and said, in a whisper louder than Izuku’s normal speaking voice, “Hey, Todoroki-kun, did I break him? He’s got that blank look. Like a rebooting computer.”

“That’s just how he always looks,” responded Todorki with no reaction to Hawks’s joking except to slide his eyes over to the side.

“What! What do I look like?” 

“Adorable is what you look like!” Hawks said with a smile that softened the sharpness of his eyes and rounded his cheeks. “Come ‘ere! Smile!” he chimed as he held his phone out for a selfie. Izuku did, but was certain he looked anxious or shy. “You too, Endeavor-san, Todoroki-kun!”

Neither smiled or moved closer to be in the picture. “Aw, you’re no fun,” Hawks continued as he started to walk by them. At least he’s walking, Izuku thought as he scurried to catch up, and not flying or leaping or spinning. “Thanks anyway, you two. I’ll fax those right over when I get back to my agency. Or, well, tomorrow morning, actually. See ya!”

Oh no. Hawks was going to take off again. Izuku’s stomach jumped in dread, and then they were off. This time, Hawks went above the buildings instead of weaving between them, and that, at least, Izuku could keep up with. Up here, it didn’t matter if he went slightly too fast to control: there was nothing to crash into: no buildings, no pedestrians, and no pavement. Hawks, ahead of him, had his visor down over his eyes again and kept his body streamlined with an occasional flap of his wings. He rode the wind with casual grace, while Izuku jerked himself along with his air blasts. 

By the time Hawks lowered himself onto a roof, Izuku’s hair was no longer curly— they’d been going fast enough that the wind had blown the curls straight out. When he thunked down next to Hawks, it flopped into his eyes. He pushed it back up, his fingers pulling through tangles and the remains of little bugs.

“Good job, Deku!” Hawks told him with a pat on the back. “You’ve got the speed and power, now you just need some precision.”

Izuku already knew that, but couldn’t help smiling anyway. “Thanks! I’ve been working hard!”

“Yeah, you’re a good intern. The best, actually,” Hawks beamed at him. “You and Tokoyami.”

“I– Thanks!”

Hawks was still smiling as he told Izuku, “Okay. You wait here at my agency. I’ve got some things to do; I’ll see you when I get back tonight.”

“Wha-” Izuku looked around and realized that were indeed standing on top of Hawks’s agency office. “Oh.” His enthusiasm, which had been soaring only a moment ago, collapsed and started to drip down to the street below. “Okay!” he called after Hawks, who was already flying away. 

Izuku took the roof entrance, and the sidekicks and secretaries grinned at him as he trudged past.

“Deku!” called Lava, Hawks’s sidekick with the ability to attract and absorb flame. “I like the hairdo!”

Despite his low mood, Izuku grinned back at him. “It’s the latest style, you know!” He reached the door to his room, then had a thought and backtracked. “Oh, hey, do you have any projects here I can work on? Hawks, uh… ”

“Oh, sure thing! Here, come help me with this write-up.”

This is good, Izuku told himself as he crunched through the report, this is good. Yes, he needed to work on his “flying,” but this was good! He was learning the nitty gritty of hero agencies, the not-so-glamorous work behind the scenes. This was good.

The work was simple, plugging in numbers and words to a pre-existing template, so his mind wandered. He thought of his internship with Gran Torino and how much the veteran had taught him. He remembered Endeavor, who’d trained him and Kacchan because Todoroki made him. With Nighteye, he’d at least learned from Lemillion.

Why did Hawks request an internship if he wasn’t even going to <em>try</em> to mentor him? He was happy that his friends were excited about their internships and learning a lot, but he ached a little bit too. Deku, left behind again, it seemed. Don’t need to worry about him, he’s quirkless anyway, he’s not worth the effort.

Izuku stomped down on his spiraling thoughts. It’s not like that, he told himself. Hawks doesn’t think that, he’s just… busy. But, was that any better? Either way, he was missing his opportunity and falling further and further behind his classmates, and he couldn’t let All Might down like that. 

Izuku braced his shoulders with resolve. As soon as he saw Hawks, he would confront him. Nothing disrespectful, just standing his ground to be taken seriously or sent to intern somewhere else. Hawks couldn’t take issue with that because he’d done the same thing at the hero billboards.

Izuku completed the write-up with vigor and handed it to Lava with a request for a new task. He repeated that process several times, until Lava didn’t have anything for him except, “Ummm, lemme see… you could sweep? The broom’s in the kitchen closet.”

When he finished sweeping and returned to Lava, he was stopped before he could even open his mouth. “Nuh-uh! You’re finished. It’s dinnertime. Half the office has left already, you can go ahead and call it a day.”

“But, I, uh, I needed to talk to Hawks.”

Lava grabbed a post-it and wrote on it in barely legible loops. “No worries,” he said, standing up and strolling to the door to Hawks’s office. “He’ll see this when he gets back, and you’re staying here at the agency, so he can pop right over and talk to you. Now shoo!” 

Izuku dragged his feet down the stairs back to his room. He waited, but Hawks didn’t come. After a couple hours, he went back up to the office area, but it was locked and the lights were off. Eventually, he forced himself to accept that Hawks wasn’t going to come talk to him and went to bed.

In the morning, Hawks was sitting haphazardly on the backrest of a chair in the lounge, his wings behind him touching the floor. He jangled an empty energy drink can, then shot it into the small  waste bin like a basketball.

“Deku!” he called with a grin, jumping down. “You ready to head out?” Hawks coughed and pounded a fist on his chest. “Ugh, breathed in a lot of smoke last night.”

They left through the roof door as usual, but this time before Hawks could take off, Izuku stopped him. 

“I, uh, can we talk, real quick?”

Hawks relaxed from his takeoff stance, leaning back and putting his hands in his pockets. “Oh, yeah. I saw Lava’s note, but it was already super late when I got back and I figured you’d probably be asleep already. What’s up?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

“Ummm, well, uh, I. I know that you’re the hero who’s a bit too fast, that’s what they say, but, I keep getting left behind.” Now that he’d gotten started, Izuku remembered his resolve and forgot his awkward nervousness. “I came to this internship because I wanted to learn from you, but I’ve barely had the chance. I’m requesting either that you start to mentor me for real, or that you place me with another hero for the rest of the internship.” Izuku paused for a beat, then blushed. “Uh, sir,” he added with a hasty bow.

Hawks blinked, surprised. “C’mere,” he said, gesturing with his head toward the ledge. “Let’s have a seat.”

Hawks leaned back on his hands and dangled his legs over the side to kick his feet back and forth. As Izuku sat down next to him, Hawks turned away to cough into the collar of his jacket, which Izuku noticed was a little singed.

Apparently the leg-swinging was contagious, because Izuku couldn’t help but do it as well. Hawks looked into the clouds over the city, and Izuku looked at Hawks. He looked wistful, with a sad smile on his face, and Izuku’s heart sunk. He hadn’t realized that he preferred staying with Hawks as an intern until he saw the look on his face like he was going to say goodbye, and all of a sudden, Izuku was preparing himself for the sting of another adult not willing to put in the effort for an awkward, hopeless kid. He steeled himself. He’d move on from it with thicker skin, like he always did.

“Sorry about that,” Hawks said. “Sometimes I get so wrapped up in everything I forget that there are other important parts of being a hero.” He looked Izuku in the eyes. “Thanks for reminding me.” From so close, Izuku could see the bags under his eyes. How late had he gotten back last night, to assume that Izuku would be asleep? He remembered an analyst he’d listened to back in middle school who’d claimed that Hawks would burn out of the Top Ten within a year.

Izuku fidgeted. “Why do you…go so fast all the time?”

Hawks sighed and coughed again, but when his face turned back to Izuku, he was smiling. “Just, you know. Making a better world, for future heroes like you. Heroes should be able to relax, too. Who knows,” he said, staring back out at the sky, “by the time you graduate, maybe we won’t even need so many heroes, and you can kick back and take it easy as an analyst or something.”

“But I want to be a hero! Ever since I was little, it’s been my dream, to be like All Might.”

“Ah, I guess you and I are pretty similar, huh?” Hawks smiled and gave Izuku a playful punch to the arm. “For me, it was Endeavor.”

Izuku grit his teeth, his usual reaction any time Endeavor came up in conversation, but he was also surprised. Endeavor was from a later generation than All Might—Hawks was young enough for Endeavor to be his childhood hero? He’d known Hawks was the youngest in the Top Ten, but he hadn’t quite realized. “Oh,” was all he could say.

“So,” Hawks said, stretching his wings out behind him with a flutter. “That’s my reason. Work hard now, save others the pain. I guess I’ve been slacking on your training a bit because, in my mind, such promising kids like you and Tokoyami shouldn’t need to be heroes, if that makes sense. You should be able to do whatever you want, yeah? But since you want to be a hero, I’ll honor that. What do you want to learn?”

Izuku furrowed his eyebrows, trying to force his thoughts together. There was something here that wasn’t quite connecting. He tugged Hawks’s words through his mind, but they still didn’t click, and he glanced up and noticed Hawks looking at him with one eyebrow raised expectantly.

“Oh! I-” he stammered. “I’ve been wanting to work on my air speed and technique!”

“Perfect,” Hawks grinned. “You’ve come to the right place,” he said, heaving himself back up. He stretched his arms above his head and twisted from side to side and pulled his visor back down, and Izuku noticed that the bags under his eyes were invisible under the visor. 

Tiredness like the kind Hawks was hiding didn’t come from a single late night. People often called Hawks lazy because he talked about wanting a day off and wanting heroes to be able to take it easy. Was that really lazy, though? Or was he just tired? It clicked in Izuku’s head, then. Hawks worked as hard and went as fast as he did so that no one else would have to do what he did.

“Um, Hawks? Do you- do you not want to be a hero?” Izuku asked, scrambling to his feet.

 Hawks lifted himself off the ground with a flap of his wings.

“‘Course I do,” he said solemnly. “Who doesn’t? 

He turned away toward the city, leaving his back toward Izuku. “Here,” he said over his shoulder.“The first step is your angle. I think your problem is that you always fling yourself at a square angle, either straight up or straight forward. Let’s head off, and you try matching my angle this time.”

Overcoming his habit of just going straight up, Izuku took off after Hawks at the same angle.

With one hand, he gave Izuku a bright thumbs up. With the other, he held up his collar and coughed into it.

“Onward we go,” he said with a huff that was either a laugh or a sigh, Izuku wasn’t sure which.

He didn’t think Hawks knew, either.

[aforrestofstuff]

So, my lil sister is currently playing The Sims Castaway in her laptop beside me, it makes me think: What will the heroes do if they're somehow get stranded together in an unhabited island? What chaotic things they will do with other fellow heroes in there while waiting for a rescue?

Okay, I’ve basically just written a dumbass little deserted island au for you. Thanks for the request, anon! 💓💓💓

If ALL of the main heroes were to get stranded on a deserted island all together, then I’d imagine it’d have something to do with the Association fucking up big time. Maybe they were all being transported to a threat overseas and got sent off-course? So, that means their only chance of rescue would have to be from the Association themselves (and we all know how much they lag to deal with shit). Needless to say, the heroes are gonna have to get comfortable with one another and work together to pick up a thing or two on survivalism while they wait for rescue. That’s gonna be hard.

Child Emperor will have the bright idea to separate everyone into smaller groups based on their area of expertise. Nobody argues with this because it’s pretty much common sense, but the stakes are high in seeing who gets paired with who. There’s not a whole lot of bad blood between the heroes, but lord knows they’ve got a few ego problems...

These groups are gonna be Hunters/Gatherers, Homemakers, Walmart Runners, People Who Don’t Really Do Anything, the Super Duper Strike Force, and Oh, Shit it’s the Cops.

In addition to the main congregation of heroes and their groups, there’s also gonna be one more group of people that stray from the majority. These people are gonna be called Stragglers. Stragglers consist of those that:

A. Have been excluded from the main group due to being a headass.

B. Went off on their own because they’re convinced they can survive without anyone’s help.

C. Got lost.

Now, with that being said: let’s get crackin’ boys.

Disclaimer: this shit is crack as fuuuuuck

The majority of the heroes:

Group 1: Hunters/Gatherers

This group is responsible for leaving camp constantly to go hunt/forage for food.

Flashy Flash: I’ve said this before in a previous hc, but he has a pretty decent knowledge on how to find food in the wild due to him always being sent to the middle of nowhere on assassination missions. I also hc him as pescatarian, so that means that he’d be pretty good at fishing. Even though his main protein is from fish, he also has a basic understanding on how to hunt for other animals as well. He just won’t eat them cause they’re yucky.

Zombieman: He’s not super adept at anything to do with survivalism, but he’s a quick learner. It won’t take him long to figure out how to apply his detective skills when tracking animals in the wild (I.E., looking for tracks, clues, and picking up on an animal’s sense of direction). He’s also can’t die, so he’d be the guy to try out some funky-looking mushrooms/berries/herbs to see if they’re poisonous or not, making foraging a lot easier for everyone.

Mumen Rider: The group’s resident forager. He knows which plants are poisonous and which aren’t like the back of his hand due to the many years he spent in the Boy Scouts as a young lad. He also knows a lot of basic survival necessities, like how to start a fire, how to make rope from palm leaves, basic first aid, and finding clean water. He’d essentially be a walking guide on locating basic sources for water, firewood, and fish for the Walmart Runners to find back at camp.

Group 2: Homemakers

This group is responsible for building and maintaining camp. They also do basic inventory on everyone’s resources.

Child Emperor: He’s in charge of designing and construction. He’d know the best way to build a shelter so everyone’s little huts last long enough—even while under duress from crazy island weather and basic wear and tear—for the Hero Association to come to the rescue. He’d be responsible for giving the Walmart Runners the list of what he and the rest of the Homemakers need to make camp the best it can be. He’s basically in charge of everyone. Even if they don’t like it.

Genos: Genos is in charge of cooking food every night for dinner. He would be on the Super Duper Strike Force, but he’s the only one that has an endless supply of fire, so he’s in charge of keeping every light source lit and igniting the bonfire each night in time for dinner. He’s also a walking Swiss Army knife, so he’d also be the one to do any basic repairs on the camp huts in the event that one of them gets a little hole or some shit. He gives Saitama an extra serving of food each night, which has caused some internal conflict.

Puri-Puri Prisoner: As a prison inmate, he’s the expert on making somewhere comfortable on limited resources. He’d be everyone’s guide on how to make tasty food with no seasoning nor cooking equipment, in addition to teaching everyone how to stay warm without real blankets. He’d give everyone fun ways to stay busy (like making little straw dolls or playing catch with coconuts) because it gets hella boring in prison and he’s developed an innate talent for finding ways to pass the time.

Group 3: Walmart Runners

This group is responsible for leaving camp to go find resources unrelated to food, like firewood, clean water, leaves, rocks, and other things the Homemakers might need to make camp better.

Saitama: Child Emperor didn’t really know what group to put Saitama in, but Genos vouched for him and said Saitama was a fast runner. So, he got paired with Superalloy on the Walmart Runners team. He and Superalloy don’t really have any wilderness survival skills, so they rely on people like Mumen Rider and Child Emperor to point them in the right direction and give them specific instructions on what to bring back to camp. Because Saitama is so fast and strong, he’ll leave camp and be back in 30 seconds, holding twice the amount needed of whatever Mumen Rider told him to find. He often over-stocks camp on purpose so he can take long breaks in between supply runs.

Superalloy Darkshine: He got paired with Saitama because Child Emperor thought Genos was joking when the cyborg said Saitama was basically God, so he was put on the Walmart Runners to help even everything out. He’s super cooperative with Child Emperor and Mumen Rider, often bringing back way too much supplies, just like Saitama. This is due to the fact that he’s so fucking strong and huge, he can carry enough firewood to supply a small army for weeks. He also helps the Homemakers with maintaining camp in between supply runs, typically carrying all of the heavy stuff and doing all of the hard labor that comes with construction.

Group 4: People Who Don’t Really Do Anything (but also don’t make things worse)

This group consists of people who don’t contribute shit to the survival effort, but also don’t exactly make things worse. They’re just chillin.

King: King doesn’t have harbor any knowledge that can be applied while trapped on a deserted island with like, 20 homicidal maniacs. He spends all of his time huddled in his hut having a perpetual panic attack. Nobody comes in to check up on him or tell him to get off his ass because they’re all pretty intimated and believe that he’s done enough work as a hero to warrant him having a little break. Everyone thinks he’s having the time of his life while on a little vacation, when he’s actually dying inside and wishing this whole thing was over. He’s tries to call his mom a million times but his phone doesn’t receive service. He’s suffering.

Pig God: He also doesn’t have any skills or knowledge that can be applied to surviving on a desert island, so he’s just vibin. He, like King, is a gamo to the extremo and spends most of his time playing video games/watching anime, so it’s only natural that he’d be out of his element on a desert island. Unlike King, however, some people give him shit for it. This is due in part because he eats like 19 rations every meal and doesn’t really do anything to pull his weight around camp. He’s actually gained weight since they’ve been deserted. Everyone has cast a secret vote that in the event they run out of food, Pig God is the first to be eaten.

Group 5: The Super Duper Strike Force

This group is responsible for guarding camp all hours of the day. They sleep in shifts, and are constantly watching the jungle/beach for any monster activity.

Metal Bat: didn’t want to be a part of this group because that meant that he wouldn’t get his full 8 hours of beauty rest every night, so he only agreed to join on the condition that Child Emperor let him pick the name. So, lo and behold, he’s on the Super Duper Strike Force. Badd is in charge of watching the north end of camp, and is often seen climbing palm trees to get a vantage point on the great expanse of wilderness to see if there is any monster activity nearby. While he’s on top of trees, he’ll also try tirelessly to attain cell service so he can get in contact with Zenko. He fails almost each time, but boy is he persistent. He also gets bored a lot while on watch, so he just bats rocks around while using a picture of Amai that he stapled to a palm tree as a target.

Watchdog Man: He’s always on watch in City Q anyway, so this is pretty much just business as usual. He made a little mound of sand for himself (which is really hard to do with paws, okay?) to server as a makeshift pedestal like the one he has back home. People kind of forget he exists like 3 days into this whole fiasco because he doesn’t really do anything outside of just... sitting there.

Group 6: Oh Shit, it’s the Cops

This group is responsible for making sure nobody kills each other. They’re usually people who have background experience managing groups of people (this group was also named by Metal Bat because Silverfang caught him trying to vandalize Flashy Flash’s hut, to which Badd promptly yelled out “Oh shit, it’s the cops!”)

Fubuki: Even though the Fubuki Group rarely has disagreements, she still knows how to put a fucker in their place. Nobody cares that she’s B-Class, she’s feared all the same. If someone fucks up around camp, she’ll mom the hell out of them until they straighten themselves out. On top of that, she also helps Puri make camp comfortable for everyone, and assisted Child Emperor when he was assigning roles and groups.

Silverfang: He’s a master at keeping track of murderous hobos. He raised Garou, didn’t he? He can do anything. If someone fucks up, all he needs to do if give them a side-eye and that’ll be enough for them to get back in line. He suggested that everyone maintain a strict routine to ensure that nobody goes crazy while being trapped together in a deserted hell. And so far, it’s worked out just fine. So far.

Tanktop Master: The Tanktop gang, like the Fubuki Group, rarely sees disagreements. He isn’t one to hand out punishment, discipline, or reprimands, so if he sees someone fuck up, he’ll kindly pull them aside and ask them what’s up. He’ll work with everyone to ensure that all of the heroes are friendly to each other, since that’s pretty much the best anyone can do (given the situation). He’ll also help out Silverfang with his “maintaining a routine” idea, making a personalized workout routine for everyone.

Stragglers:

Tatsumaki: Tats went out on her own the minute everyone got deserted because she was already tired of their shit to begin with. She’s been doing fine, albeit being hella pissy. She’s already magic’d herself a shelter, found that she can start fires by forcing two rocks to rub against each other really fast, and that she can also kill animals in seconds just by looking at them the wrong way. Her main gripe is being away from clean sheets and soap operas, but she’s a trooper. She’ll survive.

Amai Mask: Amai Mask got voted out of the majority because he’s a dipshit and they were all gonna jump him if he didn’t haul ass across the island, far, far, away from the main camp. He’s been suffering. He can hunt fine, but he’s got zero survival skills and is currently sleeping under a cold rock. Child Emperor gave him some bright red rope to tie around his camp so the Hero Association could easily spot him from a distance when they arrive for rescue, but the rope was eaten by a bear. He’s gonna die if he doesn’t get off that island pronto.

Metal Knight: Metal Knight willingly separated himself from the group because he’s convinced that he can survive without the help of anyone else, (even though he was just gonna get voted out anyway because everyone hates that fucker) and has since then been building an army of robot coconuts. He can engineer himself a shelter just fine, and he’s figured out how to sic his little robots on nearby wildlife so he can eat. I hate to say it, but he’s actually doing well.

Drive Knight: Drive Knight also purposefully separated himself from the majority because he saw Metal Knight do it and is currently on a quest to hunt down Bofoi and merk that fucker’s ass in the jungle with God as his witness, cold-blooded. He doesn’t need wilderness survival skills because he runs on batteries and solar panels. He does, however, need a fucking GPS because he’s been lost for three days with no robot coconut army in sight. If he doesn’t find Bofoi or the main group before the Hero Association arrives for rescue, then he’ll most definitely get left behind, and that is a risk he is willing to take. Dumbass.

Atomic Samurai and his 3 hooligans: Atomic Samurai, Iaian, and Okamaitachi got separated from the group because they somehow ended up on a completely different part of the island upon being deserted. The two disciples listened to Kami (bad idea) while he was trying to find a sense of direction, and they ended up straying even farther away from the group than they were when they started. Bushidrill also ended up on a completely different part of the island, separated from both the group and Atomic Samurai’s gang, but they found each other around 2 days into this whole fiasco by pure chance. Bushidrill was found sitting in a tree 20ft off the ground, wearing a coconut bikini, and stress-drinking a bottle of saké he had smuggled in his robe before everything went to shit. All in all, when the disciples and Kami put their heads together, they make a pretty good team. Iaian hunts, Kama makes camp, Bushi sits on his ass, and Kami sits with Bushi. They’re not going to be left behind as easily as Drive Knight, though. If they’re not found before the Hero Association comes to the rescue, then you bet your ass those corporate cronies are gonna spend a pretty penny on search parties.

So, now that we have everyone’s roles and groups down, I’m gonna make up some island shenanigans because this shit is just TOO GOOD to be left alone like this.

The shenanigans:

The quest for food:

Zombieman, while hunting with Flashy Flash and Mumen Rider: hey, stop moving. I think I see a deer over there.

Mumen Rider, looking through a set of binoculars: awww, it has a baby!

Flash: where did you get those binoculars?

Mumen: oh, they were in my wilderness survival kit!

Zombieman: what

Mumen, looking through his bag: yeah, I have a compass, a canteen, a bird-watching manual, some fire-starters, some dynamite next to the fire-starters— oh no.

The quest for food Part 2:

Flashy Flash: I found this strange mushroom, but I don’t know if it’s poisonous.

Mumen: hmm, let me look it up in my manual—

Zombieman: *swipes the mushroom and gobbles it up*

Mumen:

Flash:

Zombieman: it’s poisonous

The quest for dinner:

Child Emperor, speaking to everyone at camp: okay, guys. We’re gonna start having nightly bonfires that will hopefully aid us in making passing ships aware of our location. It’s also how we’re gonna cook our food—

Pig God: *raises hand*

Child Emperor: no, we don’t have any marshmallows.

Pig God: *slowly lowers hand*

The quest for peace:

Badd: fuck the police! *sprints away*

Tanktop Master: what did he do?

Silverfang: I caught him carving “flash sux” into the sand and he tried to hit me with a coconut after I told him to stop.

The quest for Bushidrill:

Iaian: Sensei, it’s been two days. Maybe he’s with the others—

Kami: no, I know Bushidrill. If WE’RE lost, then he’s SUPER lost.

Okamaitachi: there! In that tree!

Bushidrill, face-planted on a tree branch 20ft off the ground: God, is that you?

Kami: I knew it.

Kami: Iaian, cut him down.

Iaian: is that really the best idea—

Kami: just do it.

Iaian: *cuts down Bushidrill*

Bushidrill: *immediately gets knocked unconscious the minute he hits the ground*

Kami: good.

[quickspinner]

Motorcycle Fairy Part 2

Part 1 | Part 3

I was planning on just a two part story, but it’s gonna be three. Motorcycle Fairy isn’t on AO3 yet, I’ll post it as a chapter of I’ll Never Not Know You when all the parts are complete. 

It was a really nice day, Luka reflected as he sat on the bench outside of the shop, playing his guitar. The remains of his lunch sat beside him. He let his eyes fall closed, lost in the music, enjoying the breeze that ruffled his hair. 

“Luka!”

Luka jumped slightly, the song cutting off inelegantly. He looked up and saw Marinette standing there with her hands over her mouth and an expression of horror. “I’m so sorry,” she gasped. “I just—we were listening and it was so pretty, and then I saw your face and I was surprised—I didn’t mean to interrupt you!”

“Marinette!” Luka scrambled to his feet and shrugged out of the strap of his guitar. “Hey, how’ve you been? Oh, uh, don’t worry about it, I’m just on my break and I was just messing around, you really didn’t interrupt anything.”

She relaxed a little, her shoulders coming down from her ears and her hands coming down from her mouth, and his attention was much too focused on that mouth when she spoke again. “It sounded great, though, what you were playing.”

“Well...thanks,” he grinned, moving his gaze quickly back up to her eyes. “Glad to see you back. I saw the helmet on your Instagram, by the way, it looked sick.”

“I’m surprised you remember me,” Marinette hunched her shoulders slightly again. She had on shorts today, pink with a white flowy top, and her hair done in pigtails, like in the picture she’d shown him, only longer. 

“Of course, your art was really fantastic,” Luka said, not even really knowing what he was saying. “I really wanted to see the finished picture so I’ve been following your Instagram, and you had a lot of cool stuff on there, so...yeah, I remembered.” God, just kill him. 

“Ah, yes, my little Marinetta is so talented,” said the older woman standing beside her, putting her hands on Marinette’s shoulders and squeezing. “The new helmet was a lovely surprise.” 

Marinette beamed up at her. “Luka, this is my grandmother Gina Dupain. Grandma, this is Luka, he’s the one who helped me out last time.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mme Dupain,” Luka offered his hand.

“Call me Gina,” the grey haired woman smiled, shaking it. “Well, we won’t disturb your break, my dear, we just came to do a little shopping. I am taking my little Marinetta to Le Mans with me.” Gina put her arm around Marinette’s shoulders and smiled at her affectionately. “We need to get her some equipment so that my fairy will be safe and comfortable for the ride.”

“I’m actually just about due back, so let me clean up here and I’ll meet you inside.” Luka smiled at Marinette, trying to pretend his heart wasn’t trying its best to escape his chest. “We’ll get you all set.” 

The ladies went inside and Luka scrambled to clean up the rest of his lunch quickly. He zipped up his guitar, reminding himself to breathe. He was at work and there was no way he was going to let the butterflies in his stomach keep him from doing his job. He rubbed his hands on his jeans, blowing out a slightly frustrated breath. Sure she was cute and sweet and talented and he’d maybe been nursing a small (maybe not so small anymore) crush since she came in the first time and maybe he’d daydreamed once or twice about what he’d do or say if she ever came in again, but this was his job and this was real life and Michel trusted him to not screw this up, so he was going to go in there and at least pretend that he had himself together. 

She was the same girl who had knocked over his displays and chattered nervously the last time she was here. Before he knew that in addition to being cute and sweet, she was a video game champion, a creative genius who rubbed elbows with rock stars, and a savvy marketer for her fashion business. On top of that she still made time to decorate cookies with her dad, promote her friends’ accomplishments, and plant trees for community projects.

Not that he’d been stalking her social media or anything. He just...followed her. And noticed when she put up new things. She was just so interesting and her projects were amazing...

Luka shook his head at himself and picked up his guitar. Okay. I can get through this without sounding like a stalker or a perv.

Michel was already talking to Gina when Luka made it inside. “—and my Marinetta says your boy was so kind to help her last time,” Gina was saying. “And that you had a bigger stock of materials for women than the other shops she visited.”

“Yes ma’am,” Michel nodded with grave politeness. “It’s certainly our goal to make sure we have everything our customers need—all our customers.”

“I will have to let my club know about this place,” Gina remarked. 

“And with those words, your grandma just won Michel’s heart forever,” Luka leaned over Marinette’s shoulder to murmur. She giggled, and he grinned. “I’ll be right back, just let me drop my guitar in the back.” 

“Take your time,” she said, reaching up to pat his shoulder. “We’re not in a hurry.” 

Luka blushed all the way to the back, and felt like a fool for it. Thankfully Jean was nowhere in sight. Luka suspected Michel had sent him on break as soon as the women walked in. He stashed his guitar and practically jogged back to the front of the store. 

“Okay, I’m all yours,” he said, hopefully not too breathlessly, and wanted to kick himself. “What can I help you find?” he tried instead.

“Oh, um…” Marinette glanced at Gina, but she was still talking to Michel. “Um, well I have a helmet, but Grandma said I needed riding boots? And glasses. And a jacket with padding?”

“Okay, we can do that,” Luka smiled. “Boots are probably easiest, we only have a few kinds for women, so there’s not as much to pick from. We have about eight thousand different kinds of glasses,” he rolled his eyes but grinned back at her when she giggled. “Should we wait for Gina, or…”

Marinette shook her head. “It’s fine, she’ll come find us. She’s very chatty, so she might be a while.” 

“Okay, then, right this way,” he touched her arm with the tips of his fingers and indicated the direction with his other hand. “So, Le Mans, huh?”

“Yes, Grandma’s club is racing and she said she has to—how did she put it—” Marinette put her nose in the air and said in an affected Italian accent, “Nonna Gina will teach these young idiots why they should respect their elders!” 

Luka laughed a little harder than he should have as he gestured toward the shelf with their display models. “So your choices are a little limited, like I said, but you can go with the ankle boot or the taller ones, that’ll probably come up to about—” He looked down at her legs and then paused and ripped his gaze away. “Um, a little below the knee? Maybe a little higher on you because you’re—”

“Short?” Marinette finished with a giggle. 

“Yeah,” Luka grinned sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s a fact,” Marinette shrugged. “I’ve accepted it. I’m taller than my mom, at least, but on the height front it looks like the Cheng blood won out over the Dupain.” She grinned.

“They do look a bit of an odd couple,” Luka chuckled. “Adorable though. I saw them on your Insta too. It looked like there was a lot of love there.”

Marinette’s grin widened. “There really is. So do you have a recommendation?”

“I like the taller boots when I ride,” Luka shrugged, “More protection is always good, plus you’re less likely to accidentally burn yourself on the exhaust.” 

“Ooh, good point,” Marinete said, wincing in a way that made Luka think she had experience with that hazard. 

“Oh, we do have one mid-calf model, that’s new,” Luka pointed to it. “Some women prefer to wear the men’s boots, so we have more options in those, but to be honest I don’t think they’re going to come small enough for you.” 

They discussed it a little further, and then Marinette picked out a couple of options. She took a pair of socks—knee socks, as it turned out—out of her purse and Luka made the mistake of watching her pull them on and up her leg. Marinette flashed him a smile in the middle of his internal meltdown that didn’t help at all. 

Even worse, the stiff new leather gave her some trouble and Luka had to get down on one knee to help her get the boots on, trying desperately not to touch her any more than necessary. “Thanks,” she sighed when her foot was finally in the first one. He helped her get the second option on her other foot, and held her hand to steady her as she walked back and forth with them, a little wobbly as one had a thicker heel than the other. She picked one and then he had to help her get the wrong one off (professional, he promised Michel he’d be professional) and put on the mate of the one she’d picked. Marinette walked carefully back and forth in them and Luka folded his arms, bringing one hand up over his mouth and praying he wasn’t too obvious. 

“What do you think?” Marinette asked, turning to look at the boot in the mirror. It was nearly knee-high on her as he predicted, a black harness boot with pink hardware all the way up one side for lacing and a rugged rather than decorative sole and heel. It had enough height in the heel for her to ride comfortably, but not enough to cause her any trouble.  

I think you’re going to be so hot all geared up, Luka groaned in his head. “I think you’ll need to wear them for a bit and break them in, but other than that—are they comfortable? Because they look great on you.” That wasn’t too much, right? Still professional.  

“They feel pretty good,” she said thoughtfully. “The size feels right. They’re a little stiff, but they don’t rub anywhere weird.”

Luka was saved from having to reply to that by Gina descending on them. She made Marinette walk in them again, cooed over her “fairy” until Marinette was red-faced and Luka was trying not to laugh at her. “You can keep them on while we find the rest of your gear if you want,” Luka suggested. “That way you can walk around in them a bit, make sure they’re still comfortable.” Marinette gave him an excited smile and did a little eager bounce and Luka maybe died just a little bit. 

It actually didn’t take too long for Marinette to pick a pair of glasses; she went straight for a chrome and pink pair with rhinestones along the top and mirrored lenses, and she looked so adorable with them and so pleased with herself that Luka couldn’t help his grin. While Gina teased her about her pink addiction, Luka slipped away into the racks and came back with a mesh padded jacket that had pink panels with reflective piping in the front and back and down the arms. Marinette squealed and nearly hugged him as Gina laughed. Marinette put on the jacket and zipped it up. Gina checked the padding placement with the air of experience, and asked Luka for the next size down. He brought it and this time Gina nodded in satisfaction.

Nearly vibrating with excitement, Marinette put on her new glasses and checked herself out in the mirror. “How do I look?” she giggled, turning toward him. With her pink shorts and pigtails she looked more like a poster model than an actual biker, but even so— 

“You look amazing,” he told her, maybe more honestly than he should have. “Would you mind if I took your picture for our social media page?” He looked at Gina. “I’m sure Michel told you we’re looking to expand our female clientele.” 

“It is Marinetta’s decision,” Gina said with an indifferent shrug, “I have no objections if she does not.” 

With Marinette’s permission, he took her picture and then a picture of her and Gina together. 

“You’re adorable,” he chuckled absently as he posted the pictures. 

“Adorable?” Marinette repeated, deflating slightly, and Luka flushed. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. So much for professional, although...that didn’t seem to be what was bothering her. As cute as she was she probably got that all the time, he realized, glancing at her pouting face. Adorable probably wasn’t what a lady wanted to hear when she was decked out in motorcycle gear for the first time. 

Luka glanced at her and then at Gina, who had gotten distracted again. Then he leaned over slightly to look pointedly at Marinette’s new boots, hugging the curve of her calf. He met Marinette’s eyes.

“I’m working,” he told her, lowering his voice a little, “So I’m just going to say the gear suits you. But...change the hair and get some skinny jeans and I guarantee everybody else will use a different word.” He grinned at her and went back to his phone and Marinette giggled, blushing. 

“You can go ahead and tag me,” Marinette said, tipping her glasses up and peeking over—or rather around—his shoulder. “Grandma too.” She dictated Gina’s handle and then pulled out her own phone. “That should help get people from Grandma’s club to check it out. Will you take a selfie with me for mine?” 

Luka was more than willing to put his face next to hers and smile as she flashed her peace sign at the camera. 

“All right, let’s check you out—get you checked out,” Luka corrected quickly, shaking his head. “Unless there was anything else you needed?”  

“Um, I don’t think so,” Marinette said, sounding both thoughtful and maybe a little disappointed. Or maybe that was just him. 

“Okay, well follow me and I’ll get everything rung up,” Luka said, tipping his head toward the counter. “You want me to package it up or do you want to wear it out?”

“I can do that?” Marinette asked, eyes wide.

Luka shrugged and smiled. “It’s all yours once it’s paid for, so why not?” 

Marinette leaned her elbows on the counter, admiring her purchases. 

“So,” Luka said, glancing at her as he started going through the pile. “I gotta ask, what’s it like working for Jagged Stone?”

Marinette’s head shot up and a blush bloomed on her face. “How did you—oh, right, I gave you my—so you saw the—um, yeah.” She laughed awkwardly, reaching up to fidget with one pigtail. “It’s, um...it’s an experience?”

“High maintenance?” Luka grinned.

“So high maintenance,” Marinette groaned. “Oh, it’s embarrassing to admit it, but my first try bombed completely. It’s a long story but I basically got assigned to be his gopher for the day and he was bound and determined that he wanted those glasses and nothing I could find was good enough and so finally I was like forget it, he’s impossible I’m just going to make them myself and...and…” She spread her hands. 

“And now you’re friends with a rock star,” Luka laughed. “That’s awesome, Marinette.” He shook his head. “You must be incredibly patient as well as talented.”

“Oh...I…” She looked down at the counter, tracing a line of the grain with her finger. “I’m just...I like people. I like making people happy. I guess I’m a people pleaser.” 

“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” Luka commented as Gina came up to the counter. 

“Well, sometimes—“ Marinette cut off and bit her lip and looked at the total on Luka’s screen. “Grandma, are you sure—” 

“Hush, Marinetta,” was all Gina said, and Marinette just sighed with a fond smile. 

“Thank you, Grandma.” 

Luka gave Gina her receipt, and she immediately went back to whatever debate she’d been having with Michel. Luka looked at Marinette. “Well, you want to wear it?” 

Marinette nodded eagerly and Luka chuckled, pulling out his pocket knife. He cut the tags off of the jacket and Marinette slipped it back on and zipped it up. Then she pressed her lips together for a moment before reaching up to pull her pigtails out. She retied her hair in a low ponytail over one shoulder instead as Luka cut the tags off her glasses and peeled away the protective plastic. “Better?” she asked. She took the glasses Luka handed her and slid them on. 

“Well—” Luka glanced over at Gina and Michel, and leaned over, settling his elbows on the counter and speaking low. “I’m still working, but...ask any guy on the street and I think you’re going to get the answer you’re looking for.” He winked at her and Marinette grinned, looking pleased as she tilted the glasses up onto her head. 

“So I’m guessing you’re not racing,” Luka said, straightening up and sweeping the tags into the trash. He came around the counter and crouched next to her to cut the tags off of the boots she was still wearing. 

“No, definitely not,” Marinette laughed. “I’m just going to cheer Grandma on. And, you know, get out in the fresh air, have some fun. The races are open to the public,” Marinette added brightly as Luka straightened up and folded his knife. “It’s a big fundraiser and recruitment event for them actually, so it’s kind of a big party. I’m sure there will be plenty for me to do. Have you ever been there? To the track I mean?”

“The Bugatti Circuit? Yeah, a couple times for different things,” Luka replied, tucking the knife back in his pocket and leaning one elbow on the counter.  “It’s a cool place, I’ve stayed at the campground nearby a few times. Great place to see some really cool bikes and cars, if you’re into that kind of thing. Most people who come to stay there are there for the tracks so they all have crazy machines.”

“Oh, that’s good to know,” Marinette exclaimed. “I don’t know much about cars but I bet I could get some amazing inspiration there.” She pouted a little. “I kind of wish my friends were going,” she whispered, glancing back to where Gina and Michel were chatting. “Grandma will be in the races and I’ll be stuck on my own. It’d be nice to be there with someone, especially someone who knew their way around.” Her eyes widened slightly and she blushed as she added in a rush, “I’m good at making friends though, I’ll find someone to hang out with.”

“No doubt,” Luka said, glancing over at Gina with a slight frown. He was sure Marinette wouldn’t lack for company and the idea of her being on her own made his big brother bone itch. So he told himself, anyway. “Just be safe, okay? You never know who’s going to show up at an event like that. People get a little bit of alcohol in them and they start acting stupid.” 

“I’m a good judge of character,” Marinette smiled. “I know how to stay out of trouble. Besides, I may be adorable,” she rolled her eyes. “But I’m not helpless.” 

You’re a snack and guys are going to be lining up like there’s only one vending machine, Luka thought grimly, but he kept his pleasant expression. “Well, is there anything else I can do for you, Marinette? It looks like you’re all set.” He put one hand on the boot box that now carried her street shoes and slid it closer to her.

“Oh,” Marinette blinked, like she’d forgotten why she was there. “Oh, no, I think that’s everything. I, um...thanks, Luka.” She picked up the box slowly, and her blue eyes were soft when she looked up at him. “Really, thank you. I was super nervous about coming to a place like this last time and you really made it easy, and today too, and I just...I’m grateful.”

Luka could feel his cheeks reddening. “I didn’t do anything special,” he shrugged, “A customer’s a customer, right? That’s Michel’s policy.” She made an affirmative noise and looked down and Luka knew he couldn’t just leave it at that. “But...I’m really glad I met you, Marinette. You’re a cool person. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime, just...around or whatever.” 

His eyes skimmed over Marinette’s head as he resisted the urge to ruffle his hair, and found Gina watching him with slightly narrowed eyes. Luka didn’t react outwardly; he wasn’t doing anything wrong and he didn’t care if she knew he thought Marinette was cute. Really, he’d managed to get out of this encounter so far without embarrassing himself too badly or letting Michel down too much, so he was counting it a win. He forced himself to look back at Marinette though and smile.

“Maybe I will see you around sometime,” Marinette said, suddenly not quite meeting his eyes either, and Luka’s pulse spiked. “Like you said, you never know who might show up at an event, right? Who knows, maybe I’ll be going to more events now that I’m all geared up for it.” She grinned and put her glasses back on. They did nothing to hide her suddenly flaming blush. “Well...bye Luka. Thanks again!” 

She nearly tripped in her sudden hurry to get out of the shop. Laughing, Gina caught her arm and said something quietly to her before glancing back at Luka and sending one more smile and a “Ciao, dear!” at Michel.

“What did I tell you?” Michel said with satisfaction. “Good customer service is never wasted.”

“Yeah,” Luka said with a smiling sigh. “You told me.” Man, what he wouldn’t give to be in Le Mans next weekend. 

It’d be nice to be there with someone, especially someone who knew their way around.

No...no, he couldn’t. That was crazy. No way she’d meant it the way he suddenly wanted to hear it. 

Like you said, you never know who might show up at an event, right?

Luka shook his head and went back to work. No. No way. He wasn’t that lucky. He’d really look like a stalker if he showed up in Le Mans, two hours away, on a couple of vague hints that he was probably reading too much into.

The next time he had a quiet moment, Luka pulled up Marinette’s Instagram. There was the selfie of the two of them together. The caption read, Gearing up for the trip to Le Mans next weekend! Had a great experience at Michel’s Motor Gear. The owner Michel is awesome and Luka took great care of me! Super patient, very professional, and soooo nice! AND he plays awesome guitar! #great shop #great service #great guy 

Luka put his head down in his arms on the counter and whined. He was doomed. Worse, he wasn’t going to be able wipe the dumb grin off his face for hours.

He was still grinning stupidly at the picture when Michel walked by. 

“Boss,” Luka said absently, not looking up from his phone. “Can I have Saturday off?”

Michel saw the picture in his hand and frowned. “I don’t think I approve of dating customers.”

“Fair,” Luka agreed, the dopey grin not budging a millimeter. “I quit.”

Michel stood stunned for a moment and then sighed. “Of course. I forgot for a moment you’re Anarka’s boy.” He chewed his mustache for a moment. “Ah, you don’t have to quit. I was watching, I know you’ve acted like a pro. As long as you ask her out on your own time, got it?”

“Yeah. So, Saturday? I’m thinking about a day trip to Le Mans.”

Michel sighed. “Fine, take the weekend. Get it out of your system before Monday.”

Luka snorted softly. “No promises.”

[hs-devote]

7. H O U R G L A S S

Moodboard // Content // Masterlist

Disclaimer:

All characters and situation in this story are fictitious. Resemblance to any person living or dead is only God knows.

Previous chapter :

“I'm close, H! I'm close.”

“Cum with me, baby. Cum with me.”

Y/N cried out when she releases, arching her back made her breast went up in the air. Harry moaned when he spurted his load inside her, filling up her warm cunt. Yet they were riding out their high together, Harry's length still hard and stiff inside her. He rested his forehead against her, giving her small peck on the swollen lips. Harry collapsed next to her, Y/N snuggled to him – hugging his body. They were silent for a moment, letting their lungs gasping for oxygen.

7. HOURGLASS

Her eyes fluttered open, looking at the empty side next to her. She sat up right away, averted her gaze around to find Harry. Y/N wrapped the comforter around her naked body before lowering her feet to the floor. She smiled seeing at small note latched on the nightstand.

I'm on the kitchen if you wake up and find this note. You can wear my shirt if you want to. I hung it in the closet. H x

She put down the paper. When she was about to go to his closet, she was shocked to see how messy his room was. The sheet was sprawled open, her panties were thrown away from the bed whilst her bra was nowhere to be found. The cushions was laying far in the corner. Were they that wild last night?

No, last night was nothing wild. They didn’t damage the bed nor the linen. She was pretty sure Harry could go wild anytime more than last night if he wanted. Her stomach growled from hunger, the sound made her laugh. She had to get out and meet Harry in the kitchen once she finished dress up.

Her legs were a bit sore when she walked, yet she brushed it off. This wasn't her first time wandering around his massive walk-in closet, she remembered the first time she was in there, her jaw hung open due to the large and luxurious his closet. That day, Harry asked her to get his tie. She got confused since there were so many drawers and wardrobes he had. Well, she would laugh if she remembered that.

Y/N instantly spotted his plain white shirt which was too big for her. Nonetheless, she still wore it. She liked it more than her own shirt since she didn't keep her baggy shirts here.

She did keep spare her clothes in Harry’s wardrobe. Of course, it was Harry idea. Y/N often spent her free time at Harry’s house, and most of them ended with her stayed a night or two. He thought that it would be better if his girlfriend kept some spare clothes.

Screw the bra. There were a few of them in the top drawer but I want freedom this morning.

Y/N didn’t want to snoop around, but seeing Harry's clothes hung neatly was such a sight for herself. Her nose smelt Harry's familiar perfume around the closet – made her want to stay a little bit longer.

Her boyfriend was such a neat freak. Harry arranged his clothes according to the brands, the purpose, and colour. He had two wardrobes dedicated to his favourite designer. Yves Saint Laurent and Gucci. He really loved those two brands, and had a good relationship with their designers. It wasn’t a surprise there was plenty of custom outfit from them that Y/N had never seen before.

Then, her eyes caught a shabby leather journal laid on top of his tie drawer, written an H 1994 in front of it with a picture a child embedded. That must be Harry.

Her curiosity about Harry's childhood pictures made her grabbed the journal. Y/N giggled over his photograph; little Harry was so cute with his brown hair. In the picture he wore a blue shirt underneath the cream coloured overalls, his smile was so big showing his bunny teeth. Sitting at the velvet chair, she opened the journal – hoping to find his childhood pictures. But all she found was writings. At first, she wanted to return it back, but the dates were written made her curious. All of them.

January 11th 2003 I didn't know where is my fault. They keep to hate me

January 15th 2003 Friends are horrible

This wasn’t a photo book. This was his childhood diary.  She shouldn’t have opened Harry’s diary, surely it was a secret.

There was no way photo album is in a journal, you stupid girl! Her inner goddess scowled.

Her mind told her to return the journal to its previous place, but her inquisitiveness was too high. She gathered her determination before continuing to read.

February 1st 2003 My birthday and no one knows, except mum

February 9th 2003 Everyone hates me

March 12th 2013 Why he hates me and mum so much?

March 29th 2013 He hurt mum

April 3rd 2013 He hurt me

May 1st 2013 I don't like him

August 18th 2013 Football is nice

August 25th 2013 They love my football

September 1st 2013 Dale was awful. I was crying. Everyone was laughing. Mum was sad.

September 12th 2003 Who was the abusive one? Dale? Father?

September 13th 2003 He kicked me

September 14th 2003 He punched my tummy. It's hurts

September 20th 2003 Dale hit me everywhere. But why I couldn't feel it?

October 1st 2003 That feels nice

October 9th 2003 I can't feel my face

October 25th 2003 Poor little pigeon

November 6th 2003 He's stronger than ever

December 1st 2003 What happened?

Y/N closed the journal harshly, too many conclusions was spinning in her brain. The more she thinking about it, the more theories that emerge. Y/N couldn't just draw a conclusion, her brain urged her to ask Harry about that, but her heart holding it back. She didn’t want herself to fall deeper into his confide, she had to stop before curiosity killed her. With various questions raging inside her head, Y/N returned the journal to its original place and immediately went out to meet her boyfriend.

She could see Harry was cooking from the way he held a pan. His upper body bare due to lack of clothes, his fern tattoos visible due to sweatpants hanging low in his hips. Her eyes went down to his happy trail, reminded her of how good he pounded into her last night. Just imagined it made her shudder.

Y/N smiled of how focused he was when he made breakfast, forehead wrinkled while his tip tongue was sticking out. She was busy adoring him with her body leaned to the door frame. Felt like someone was watching him, Harry averted his gaze. He found his girlfriend watched him with a smile on her face, standing cutely in his shirt that way too baggy for her –exposing her delicate legs. Harry was sure she only wore underwear beneath since the shirt fell on her thighs and she was wearing no pants. Harry saw her semi hard nipples through the fabric. He shook his head instantly, if he glanced at it longer than intended, he might have Y/N as his breakfast.

“Good morning, love. I'm making pancake, should be ready in ten minutes. Do you want anything else?” He asked while flipping the pan.

“Pancake is good.” She hummed, walking towards him. “Be careful, we don't want the pancake to fall, do we?”

“Don't underestimate my ability, baby. Go take a seat, and sit there beautifully.”

Y/N shrugged, pulling a seat near her. A moment after, Harry turned off the stove and put the pancake on her plate. She gave him a quick thanks then laughing when she realised her pancake had a shape of a bear's head. She took a quick glance of Harry's plate, finding one with a shape of frog's head.

“What do you want to put on top of it? I have… berries, honey, maple syrup, powdered sugar, err... jam?” Harry asked with his head dug into his massive fridge.

“Berries will be fine.”

Harry pulled out his head with a bowl of berries and a maple syrup in each hand. His foot closed the fridge door. Y/N thanked him for the berries. She looked at Harry who was pouring maple syrup to his pancake and slice the banana on top of it.

“I didn't know you have this cute pancake mould.” She giggled, “This is too cute to eat! I can't even bear to cut it.”

“I found them when I was opening the top drawer. I forgot that I had it because I never used it.” He shrugged, cutting the pancakes. But, her shrieking made him jump and dropping the knife.

“What's wrong?” He asked while taking the knife, put it on the end and took a new one.

“You destroyed the frog's face!” Y/N gasped then laughing softly. Harry stunned in his seat, then looking at his frog pancake which has been split in two.

“Don't shock me like that, baby. Just eat them. I can make more if you want to keep it as a collection.” He laughed, scooping a piece into his mouth.

“This is delicious but I can't stop thinking about a bear head inside my mouth.” Y/N spoke while chewing her pancakes. Harry just shook his head over the silliness of his girlfriend.

They ate in silence, only the sound of the television and soft noises of cutlery clashing with plates were audible. Their attention was directed on the TV that was broadcasting the graphic of company shares in U.K. Y/N was stunned when she saw Machtig's stock chart that went quite far, almost balance with Erskine at the moment. Both of them are in the top five. She looked at Harry who seems unbothered.

“Polygram did that.” Is all he said, nothing more, like answering the look from Y/N. “It's common in the business world.” He added. Then her mind rolling to a few days back, when Harry told her something about Dale bullied him. And, his writings on that journal about him that made her sad.

“Harry, darling.”

Harry smirked at the way Y/N called him with pet names. He knew very well that his lover wanted to ask something that possible worrying her, because that was starting to become her habit.

“Go on, love.”

“I remember the day when you told me that Dale Jespersen was bullying you when you were a child. Is that... is that true?” She asked softly, “I understand if you don't want to talk about it.”

Harry just stared at her, his face was flat with no emotion. She didn’t know if this is a good or bad sign. She cursed her foolishness deep inside her heart when Harry said nothing.

“Dale Jespersen was my school friend when we went to same primary school in Birmingham – before I moved to Manchester. I used to be the nerd one in my class.” He said, “I never really come play with them. Since one thing I knew that time was... I have to get good grades so my mum would be happy. Apparently, some kids think otherwise. He and his friends always said I was arrogant. Until one day, I thought it was never hurt to try... play with them. I began to open up, sparing my time to play football after school ended – before coming home, even though it just a quick play.”

Y/N silently heard Harry's explanation, want nothing than be a good listener. Harry paused for a while before continuing. His head, which had been looking down, slowly looked her up. His eyes became dull, seemed like he just told her something sad.

“It's okay if you don't want to go forward, darling. I don't have to know the whole story if you feel uncomfortable.” She said with concern. Her hand stretching out to rub his hand. But he just shook his head, ready to continue.

“I became an idol in the field because I could show them my skills in football. He didn't like his attention was taken by me. He made up a story that I beat my mum because according to him, he saw my mother was crying in our yard when he passed by. I confront him, and long story short, he made me his punching bag.”

Y/N gasped, her palm covering her mouth in disbelief. “You didn't do that, did you?”

Harry chuckled, “Who do you believe? Me or him?”

“Of course, i believe you, Harry. I just... didn't expect something like that.” She murmured, “But you're okay now, no grudges yeah?”

Harry leaned back, looking at her with a subtle smirk on his lips. Laughing silently at how clueless this girl in front of him. If only she knew.

Y/N didn't realise that the person who had been talking about Dale's cruelty, have different eyes to someone who made her breakfast this morning. Little did she know, every single word that came out from his mouth, the eyes getting darker than usual.

. . . .

Harry only could curl up, hugging his knees every time his back received a whipped from someone who should protect him. His mother was out, so clearly he couldn't ask anyone for help. He really wanted to cry, but he couldn't. If he cried, the whipped would get stronger.

“You fucking little bullshit!”

Deep inside his heart, he prayed his mother come home soon.

God listened to his prayer when he heard the front door being open. He immediately ran to his bedroom upstairs when the whipped stopped. Harry was breathing rapidly, he must quick search a safe spot in his room. Although he wasn't sure that would protect him well. He locked the door, moving his whatever in his room that he thought was heavy enough to hold the door.

He looked at himself in the mirror, slowly lifted up his shirt. He whimpered when he saw the scar on his back, still fresh and red. He blinked his eyes to let the tears rolling down his cheek. Harry wanted to tell his mother, but he didn't have any bravery.

How could a father do that to a nine year old child?

Harry didn't understand.

Sunday morning was supposedly being fun because you could have quality time with your family. Apparently not for Harry. He woke up when he heard her mother screaming, his feet quickly take him downstair to only find his father was grabbing his mother hair until her head tilted. She looked in pain, his knuckles grip tightly to her roots. Harry was frozen in the stairs, eyes widened to a sight in front of him.

Whatever would happen, he must help his mother.

Then, he ran and yelled. Kicking his father in the legs, made the older man stumbled a bit. Harry hurried to his mother, asking if she was okay, and hug her. But, the father didn't like it. He grabbed Harry's collar and dragging him to the floor. His breath choked up when he felt the father's hand circling around his neck, putting pressure in it.

Her mother was screaming in tears, watching her husband strangled her son. She tried to let go of him, but he shoved her back and slapped her head.

She must be able to protect her child, and herself. Ignoring the burning sensation on her face, she pulled her husband and took him out of the house.

“You fucking whore! Your little bastard must be taught a lesson!”

She crinkled her face when the scent of alcohol and cigarettes wafted from his mouth. “Get out! Don't come to me and my son again!”

The father looked at her and the small boy next to her in disgust. He spitted to the asphalt and went away. Harry was silent, but not with his mother. He could hear her sad cry. The only thing he could do now is; hug her. As he did now. Didn't care if they look pathetic in their front yard.

Two weeks was nice without his father. He didn't come home, and Harry prayed he wouldn't be. Until the nightmare paid them a visit as his father show up in their door, looking for his mother. The pathetic man was asking for some money to his wife. But of course she wouldn't give him. She was struggling enough to work and get a nice pay job, how the hell she gave him money from her hard work for free?

Everything went fast. Harry defended his mother, but end up his father beating him up in their yard. His mother was laying unconscious in the living room due to punched she got. Harry accepted every hit, every jab, every punch. He wanted to fight. But he didn't want his mother to be next his target if he did that. He could only surrender.

What could a small child like him do? He didn't know.

Every kick, every smack, every pain. He absorbed well. Until he only could feel anger, hate, hurt. No, he wouldn't let this pathetic old man beat him again. Not him. Not his mother. He smiled through the pain. No, he couldn't feel the pain. He didn't feel any pain. He felt numb. It was like a tickle to him. He rose, holding his father's hands.

How came?

He endured effortlessly. The last thing he remembers was, he gave the man in front of him – who was confused, a flat smile before pinning his father's hand to the opposite direction. A small crack made him screaming in pain, but made Harry smile in satisfied.

Harry felt strange, his father still tried to make his mother and his life miserable. Yes, he was abusive. But a few days back, he only threw things when he mad, didn't do anything physically. He should have be relieved a little, but his little head had some questions.

Harry didn't know why his mother did not leave him already. If they were hurt, why they should stay?

Once abusive, would still abusive.

His father was acting up again. Harry was in his room, doing his homework when his father broke down his door and rummaged the room – like was looking for something.

“Where is it?” Voice hoarse, hands opening every single drawer in the room.

“What are you looking for?” Harry asked.

“You should be keeping some money from Anne, right? Where?”

“I won't tell you. I need them to buy some books.”

Hearing what his son just said, it did something in him. He didn't like the answer. Then, he stomped to Harry, pulling his shirt. Harry was scared, his body trembled so badly.

“I need them more than you! Fuck that stupid books, I want the money!”

Harry shook his head, his mother was working her ass off to be able to provide what he needs. An education, for a better future. There was no way he would give up the money for his father's unnecessary wants. He cried in pain when his father hit his head, throwing him to the corner, and kick his legs. Over and over again.

In the blink of an eye, his father was shocked when he felt pain in his head. He looked at Harry in disbelief, his palm felt wet – and realise it was blood dripping from his back head. Harry in front of him was panting hard, his face was showing no emotion, with the hand gripping a brick. How come he had a brick in his bedroom?

Both of them heard a gasp from the door, finding Anne standing right there. Harry could see his father ran to her, and yelling about what he did to him.

“He hit my head with a brick! Your fucking son keep bricks in his room to attack me!”

Anne averted his gaze towards Harry, looking for evidence. “Is that true, Harry?” Her voice quivered. Harry shook his head, his expression was flat, no guilt at all. “No, I'm not holding anything in my hands. See?”

He stretched out his bare hand, no bricks were seen. His father yelled again, accused him of being a liar because he was sure that Harry hit him with bricks. Anne sighed and led her husband out. Leaving Harry alone. She didn't know who to believe. But clearly, Harry never lied to her.

Little did they know, Harry was laughing right after them both gone. His eyes glanced at the corner of his bed, where the brick was laid.

After that accident, his parents never talk about it. Either Anne did believe him, or his father really thought he was hallucinating. Harry really didn't care.

Christmas was only a few days. When other families worked together to decorate their house, it wasn't for Harry. His father's drunken face was somewhere they didn't know, only Harry and his mother were ecstatic about the eve. His favourite moment was when its snows in the morning and at night. If people sometimes complain about the thickness of the snow, Harry liked it instead. He liked that white – soft thing.

He ran outside when realising the snow was showering that morning, his thick clothes protected him from the cold weather outside. He sat on the snow in his yard, looking at the empty streets. Then, he saw a white pigeon sheltering under a tree from the snow. It was alone, without a friend. Harry barely recognised it if only he wasn't under a tree, its colour was almost like snow.

Without him knowing, his feet brought him close to it. He squatted in front of the pigeon, and strangely the bird was not afraid. It let itself be lifted by Harry, feeling the warmth from the hands of the human who was holding it.

“Why are you alone? Where's your family?” Harry hummed, stroking its feathers. “You must feel sad because you're alone.. in this cold morning.”

Harry kept stroking its feathers, patted the small head. “You're with no family, are you?”

Then, his hand stopped – but still holding the pigeon, as aware of something. He lifted the pigeon so its parallel with his eyes. “You better be with your other friends and family up there, not here. In here.. is cruel. Too cruel for small things like you.”

Harry didn't remember anything until his flustered face looking at the pigeon in horror. It was laying stiff with blood almost covering its small body. The blood staining the white feathers. He gasped when he found a bloody knife not far from his feet. Both of his hands also were covered by the pigeon's blood.

What did he do?

His heart was racing, hands trembling, tears were falling down to his face. He was so scared.

Harry could hear his mother screaming from his behind. He glanced back, saw his mother standing there with a shocked face, scared.. he couldn't even describe it. Then he saw the lifeless pigeon again in his hand. He did kill it.

. . . .

“See! Your fucking son is a murderer!”

Harry whimpered in the corner, his father was back and now having an argument with his mother. They didn't even have proper Christmas celebration since his father step his foot in the Christmas morning. He heard Anne confronted Harry about killing the poor pigeon. That was the worst morning for Harry, how could his mother bring it up in the Christmas morning!? They should gather around to open the presents instead of accusing him of something like... that.

“I was asking Harry, not you.”

“Now you believe me. Once, he hit me with brick. Second, he killed an animal. What's next? Burning this fucking house on fire?! This psychopath's little shit must be taken away before he harms others!”

Harry just shook his head, palms covering his ears. He didn't want to hear it.

No.

“How could you call your son a psychopath's?! He's just a child. He did know nothing!”

He couldn't take it anymore. He didn't want his Christmas turned into a nightmare. He got up, running to his room, slamming the door and locked it. He cried and cried. He didn't know why he killed the pigeon. The last thing he remembered was.. patting its head.

Christmas walked so the new year eve could come closer. He didn't have anything to celebrate. After the Christmas incident, his mother was keeping a distance from him and talked to him as needed. It broke his heart. Every night before he went sleep, he always wondering.. why his mother didn't believe him. Why he did that. Why God always makes him sad.

It was the morning after the new year, last night he spent the count down with sitting on the roof. Waiting for fireworks to appear in the night sky even he didn't like the sound of it. It was better than the sound of silence.

He bet his father was out last night, probably went to a local bar and downing for alcoholic drinks there.  He didn't care. Yet, then he heard screaming from the kitchen, he saw her mother try to shove away from his father.

“Give me that money, Anne! I need them!”

“No! I don't have any. Go away!”

“You fucking liar!” He saw his father hit his mother with cutting board to her head. Harry scared, really scared. Didn't what to do. But, the time he saw blood dripping to her face, he felt anger burned into him. He ran to them, taking the vegetable knife from the counter and stab his father's arm.

His father was screaming in agony, while his mother stared at him with utter shock – still gripping her bloody head. Harry was standing there with a knife in his hand, watching his father grimacing in pain. His mother could see the flat emotion in Harry's face. No scared look. No anger look. Nothing.

Harry was locked up in his room after that. He didn't know what his parents would do with their bloody wounds. He did care about his mother, but no with his father. He just sleeps, waiting for whatever would happen tomorrow.

It felt like he had only slept for a few hours when he woke up forcefully, he was dragged from his bed by someone.

Who else was if it wasn't his father?

Harry tried to run away, but he felt weak because he cried all night in his sleep.

Where was his mother?

He was forced into the car, both of his hands were tied together. His body was held by the safety belt in the back seat. His eyes were covered with cloth, so he didn't know where he was going.

He felt the car stopped after one hour drive, he thought. He heard the door opened, following by harsh tug of the cloth covering his eyes. His father untied his hand and pulled his out from the car.

Harry was looking around. There were lots of little kids here, but where it is?

He really wanted to run away, but he didn't dare because he didn't want his mother to get hit again because of him. His priority now was his mother safety.

“His name is Harry. I found him was crying in front of his parents grave. So I think it's best to take him here, so someone can take care of him.”

His head lifted up, looking at his father in disbelief. What did he mean?

“Of course. Did you relate to him?”

“No, I was asking him if he has a family. But he's alone himself.”

The lady who was speaking with his father, crouching down to his level. She seemed nice, smiling at him. But his smile faltered when he heard those words that crashing down his life.

“Hi, I'm Elis. We will take good care of you. Don't worry, Harry. You will get a new family in this orphanage.”

. . . .

“What are you planning for Christmas?”

Last night, Abbie called Y/N if she could get breakfast together this morning since both of them wasn't so busy at the moment. Of course Y/N glad to hear that, it had been a while since she met her friend. Now here they were, having meals in the little breakfast cafe near the Battersea Square. Harry drove her here since she was staying at his house for the weekend.

“I'll go home as well as Harry. We'll spend the time with our own family before heading to Sorrento for New Year together.” Y/N answered before taking a sip of her hot chocolate. It was an early day in December, and London weather was getting colder every day. So, she needed something to warm her body.

“Italy? How nice! But I prefer to go there in Summer, you know? Warm sun, warm air..” Abbie squealed.

“Harry was the one who had the idea. It was more than enough for me. I can't complain anything to him.” She shrugged, “How about you?”

Abbie just laughed, “My mum wanted to come here, so I guess I'll spend Christmas and New Year in here.”

The rest of the time they just walked about the time together when they were at school, playing back memories that memorable for them. The clock was ticking at past eleven when they decided to go. Besides, Y/N really didn't want to lave Harry for too long. Abbie offered her a ride since she would be passing Lots Road, so she would dropping Y/N off there.

When Y/N arrived at Harry's penthouse, Suzanne was in the kitchen. She bid a quick hello to her before heading to Harry's bedroom. She let out a small shriek when her eyes found Harry sprawled out in his bed just in his briefs, laid out like a starfish.

“What are you doing?” Y/N giggled, crawling to his side. Harry tilted his head towards her, “I was running while you were meeting Abbie, now I'm exhausted.”

“Why you don't take a shower?” She asked, her finger brushing off his baby hair on his forehead. She gasped when Harry flipped her body so she was on top him, hands gripping her bum.

“I was waiting for you. Maybe we can take a shower together?” He wiggled his eyebrow. Y/N snuggled to him, smothering his neck with some kisses. “I already taking the shower. Now, take your ass to the shower. And wash the sticky sweats off your body.”

“Didn't you realise you get the sticky sweat from the way you plopped down on me, darling?”

Harry let out a humoured laugh when his girlfriend whined after she had just realised. He shoved her body away gently, and walking to his bathroom. “I will be happy to waiting for you under the shower.”

And after that, he vanished into the bathroom. Y/N then sat up, looking at her both arms that now wet from Harry's sweat. In fact, she didn't want to complain because his sweat smells good. And yeah, she should take another shower because how sticky her body from his sweat.

When she walked into the bathroom, Harry's naked figure clearly visible. Although the hot steam covered the glass wall, she could see Harry's standing under the shower with his back facing her. Y/N closed the door slowly, not making any noise. She stripped down her clothes until she's naked, and join him in the shower. The way her sneaking arms hugged his torso made Harry didn't flinch at all. Like he's already expecting it.

Y/N peppering kisses on his neck, shoulder, all around his back with her fingers rubbing his stomach. She gave him kitten licks to his earlobe before sucked it, made Harry whimpered. His hands pumping his length slowly. Y/N brushed her wet hair from her face, so it wouldn't block her eyes. She bit her boyfriend's shoulder to expect leaving marks on there. She loved to claim what she had.

Her hand went down to his V-line, before grabbing his length and help him to pump it while her other hand slid up and down his nipple in teasing way.

That's it. That's the last strike. Harry couldn't let her.

Y/N squealed when Harry flipped them both, pushing her body against the wall and grab her legs so they wrapped around him. She quickly put her hands around his neck. Luckily, her back was against the glass and Harry holding her bum, keeping her legs around his waist. If not, she could slip on the slippery tile. Both of them panting quickly, she could feel her hard nipple pressed onto his toned chest. Meanwhile, his length resting it limb between her thighs.

“Thought you would come, darling.” He whispered, booping her nose with his. “What was that behaviour?”

“I just want to help my boyfriend.” She shrugged, fingers curling his back hair. Since the shower was no longer right above their head, Y/N could see Harry clearly. His soaked wet face made her fantasy went wild. She gulped as Harry pressed down his length to her centre, rubbing his tip up and down.

“Do you feel that? This is what you've done, baby.” He mumbled in her ear, “Hard and ready, only for you.”

“Only for me?” Y/N asked for recognition, her fingertips digging to his shoulder. She looked down to find Harry's length was ready. Hard, erect on its glory. Harry nodded, licking her earlobe. “Only for my baby.”

She brought his head to her, so she could crashing her lips on his. It didn't take long for their tongues to wrestle with each other. The only sound they heard was their lips ravishing each other, even the sound of the shower only sounded faint to their ears. Their body was hot, burning in flame. The hot steam made everything getting more intense.

He ran his finger over her centre, only found her sticky wetness. Harry smirked, his ego was getting high.

“You're so wet, bet it taste sweet too.” He mumbled in her lips.

Harry detached his lips from her, so he could suck her nipple while the other one being rubbed and pinched by his finger. His grip was strong enough to keep her only in one his arm. Y/N felt her centre aching, shaking... need someone to take care of it. Her moan was Harry favourite sound in the world, nothing else. She whimpered, arching her back when Harry blew air to her hard and stiffened nipples – making her grip on his hair tightened.

Without her knowing, Harry pushed his index finger inside her centre. Rolling out slowly, yet slammed hard into her. His index fingers curled up inside of her, with his middle finger joined afterwards.

“Oh, Harry. Oh!”

Harry groaned, moving his fingers in and out faster. He smashed his lips again to her, to muffled her loud moan. He could feel his length getting harder than before. His girl was trembling under his touch. He kissed her cheek before pulled his fingers out. But, her pleasure still going strong.

“Harry..”

“Not finish, baby.”

She cried when Harry teased her, rubbing her entrance with his tip. Her legs shook terribly. She wanted him so bad.

“Harry, please... please I can't– ”

“Please what, baby?” He hummed on her neck, leaving marks on his favourite spots.

Every whimper, every moans...

Harry left his marks on her neck, throat, shoulder, chest, breast...

“Beg for me, and I'll give you what you want.”

“I need you, please. I need you inside of me, right now, baby.”

“Uh-huh, you forget something.” He shook his head, smirking.

“I need you to fuck me, ravish me, do whatever your heart desire.” She whined.

“Oh, fuck!”

Y/N choked when Harry slid in his length in only one move. Sometimes it surprised her; the way her body quickly adjusted to his size inside of her, he was huge and thick, it was never enough for her to feel him. Harry paused for a moment before moving his precious length.

“Tell me if you want to stop.” He hissed, placing his forehead on her with hands gripping her bum.

“Move, H.”

Her words always being his command. It was what always Harry said to her.

He slowly rolled in and out, palms still gripping her bum. They both moaned wildly. Y/N clutched Harry's shoulder while he dropped his head to hers. She cried every time Harry was pulling out then slammed into her, pushed his length deeper as he could.

Y/N felt she was getting close, her full cunt trembled from the way Harry rolled his length. She squinted her eyes, breath panting wildly.

“I'm close, H. Oh my god.. Oh!”

“You wanna cum? Cum for me, baby. Cum on me, please.”

Harry still rocking wildly into her, meanwhile, the girl in front of him was shuddering. From the way Y/N arched her back, he knew she was about to come. In just a few seconds, he felt she came on him. He could feel her wetness smeared on his length.

“Harry...”

He groaned, hearing her soft yet exhausted voice whispering into his ear.  His brows furrowed, mouth parting. He shut his eyes closed, feeling himself getting close. Y/N cried out of the how fast he rocked her, the way he slammed back and forth made her wanted to pass out anytime. Before Harry got the chance, he slid out of her on time – seeing his thick cum squirted from his tip all over her and him. Slowly, he lowered Y/N legs, quickly support her body because he knew how weak her legs were.

“Thank you, baby.” He smiled, kissing her cheek. “That was amazing.”

“It was.. better than the one we had in the bathtub.” She sighed, “My back was sore due to clashing down the bathtub tile.”

“So, looks like bathtub sex is the last on the list?” Harry just laughing, “C'mon, let's clean our body.”

“I can't even stand properly, H.” Y/N pouted, hand still on his shoulder. Harry looked down her trembling legs, “All right, just hold onto me.”

. .

Please excuse some errors.

[alloveroliver]

Victor x MC “Snowfall”

Rating: Ch 1 is Fluff

Summary:  On a fateful business trip, Victor takes a chance during a snowstorm to pick MC up, when taxies won’t brave the storm any longer, to take her to the airport. They both try to make it back to Loveland before new years, but the weather only gets worse, forcing them to make a stop at his old family cabin in the middle of nowhere. The two, hardly acquaintances, are shoved together under one roof for a long weekend. They slowly get to know one another, and Victor begins to unravel his tightly bound knots and shows her who really is hiding behind his stern mask.

A|N: Slow Burn~  Getting to know each other, mutual pining.

WC: 7,800~

Mr. Love: Queen’s Choice Fanfic

Chapter 1

Snow fell in thick clumps all around the vehicle as they shot past another blurry exit sign. She adjusted her legs, crossing and recrossing them over the heated leather seat. Her thick stockings slid over the fabric while she positioned herself. They were stylish but proved to have a hard time insulating heat against her chilly skin. After being cooped up in a car for so long with Victor, it was hard to remain still like he asked. She grew antsier as the road stretched on, but Victor seemed to become the opposite.

“I think that sign said ‘Exit 41’” She tapped the cold glass in the direction of the road. Even in the heated car, a hint of fog filled the air from her breath. 

The air outside was relentless as the snow fell in thick sheets. The weather gave no heed to the two traveling though it and continued its assault upon the landscape. Not a house, gas station, or any sign of life was around for miles. The only proof they were still in civilization was the four-lane paved road they carefully traveled upon. They hadn’t even seen another car in hours, assuming the weatherman put out a warning for all that lived in this area to stay home. 

Victor took in a steady breath and drove just as calm as if he were simply driving to the grocery store for some milk. “Two more exits to go then.” His velvety voice soothed her tightening chest. His words, when not being used for scolding, were like warm cashmere smoothing over her skin.

His voice felt even more comforting after the long silence that stretched out between them. She held that warmth close to her heart, tucking away that emotion for later when it was more appropriate to explore. Diagnosing the reason her heart raced and cheeks heated when he was near would inevitably lead to disappointment and, most certainly, embarrassment. 

He was an impenetrable wall made of solid steel. She didn’t have the tools to chip away at that, nor the time or patience with her own life swirling around her as it did. Work was a huge part of her life, and becoming close to Victor, her boss, would undoubtedly complicate her daily ritual. She couldn’t see what he hid underneath his facade, just those small glimpses of kindness and selflessness that he quickly tucked away from the world the second they were exposed. 

Shifting her weight toward the door, she eyed the handle as if to tempt herself to use it as a means of escape. She pictured herself dramatically tossing her body out the car and comically rolling away from Victor’s pristine Rolls Royce. Shoes flying and scarf flapping, she was sure she could get away in time to be lost to the storm. He’d never be able to find her under the inches of snow on the side of the road. She could take what she had with her and find a new town to move to. Change her name, color of her hair, and find a new profession. Surely Victor would never find her then. She’d never have to confess her feelings to him or hold them inside any longer. The emotions swirled in her chest like a category five hurricane on a good day. She could hold her tongue, for now at least, until she found a more reasonable way to rid herself of these complicated feelings.

Her mind swirled with other stories of escape thanks to the silence, one even more absurd than the last. The drive hadn’t been without its own entertainment, though. Piano music that gently carried around the car faded within the first hour after Victor’s phone died. After two more hours, it was her phone’s turn to go out. They had gotten good use out of it in that time, though. They used the device for its GPS to direct them to civilization, even if the weather made it mildly inaccurate at times. 

The blizzard had unintentionally turned them around and gotten them lost along the countryside. They’d lost their way for too long to make it back to the airport in time. Even if they did make it back to the airport, who’s to say the flights weren’t already delayed for days at this point. 

She took in a deep breath and let her chest fall quietly. It seemed hopeless and dangerous they were cut off from the world like this. If the car broke down, their very lives could be at risk. She shook her head to stave off the grim thoughts that easily budded in her bored mind. 

“Why the heavy sigh? We are close to the cabin now.” Victor spoke without looking over at her, though he could have done that very easily. “One more exit.” 

She wondered why he was acting so calm. And, why was his voice not laced with his usual toxicity? Where were Victor’s quips and typical underhanded insult-compliment hybrids?

Earlier, Victor had turned around on the freeway after the GPS died. They were headed to the airport, but the blizzard only got worse the closer they got, making the way to civilization treacherous. He set his course on the familiar cabin stating it would be their only viable option due to the circumstances. When they’d passed it before, he recounted how there would be heat and food for a long weekend if they needed it. Now, they were headed straight to it. The cabin was a beacon of hope, literally becoming their reality for survival. 

She shrugged his question off and looked over at his hands, squeezing the wheel. Victor’s knuckles were pale, and she stared at his hands for far longer than what was socially acceptable to do. “It’s hopeless that we would be able to make it back to Loveland in time for New Years.” 

Victor’s knuckles turned white, gripping the wheel hard as they veered off the highway onto the exit ramp. His face was calm and cool, but the thick veins popping out of the back of his hand as he drove gave her a sense of the anxiety he was feeling. 

“Nothing we can do about it now.” Victor shrugged lackadaisically.

Did he really not care whether they made it back in time to Loveland or not? Why was he so content with the situation they were stuck in? You could have told him the cabin was full of angry bees, and he wouldn’t even change his calm tone of voice. Why wasn’t he freaking out?

“Does this cabin have chargers? People are going to think we died if we don’t contact someone soon.” She rubbed her hands together and blew into her palms fruitlessly. Victor’s suit jacket was in her lap, covering her knees like a blanket. It did little to help keep her warm, but the gesture was kind, and his scent engulfed her, making it impossible for her to turn down his gentlemanly act. 

He bit his lip thoughtfully and slowed down to turn onto a long winding road. She didn’t even realize a street was there in the dense snowfall, making her hands grip the seat to steady herself at the shock of the turn. 

“Truthfully, I haven’t been here since I was a teenager. I don’t know how recently my father has been here, though. We have staff that upkeep our vacation homes. So, the house will be clean and stocked with some non-perishable food, plain clothes, and other items of necessity. Maybe even phone chargers.” 

She hadn’t fully realized it until now, but they would be staying together alone in this cabin for one, maybe even two nights together. They would be stuck in close proximity for far longer than she ever considered. 

“How many rooms are there?” She blurted out, louder and more rapidly than her usual speech pattern, making Victor turn to look at her with a start. 

His right brow perked up. It was the most emotion she had seen him express openly since they got into the car. “How many rooms, specifically, are in the entire house? Is that what you are asking?” His deep voice boomed.

“Like, bedrooms, where will we- I be sleeping? I can sleep on the couch if there is only one room. I don’t mind.” She rambled, twisting a piece of hair into a tight coil around her finger. 

Victor finally cracked a smile sending a wave of what felt like relief over her. However, that didn’t seem to make sense. Had she been tense this whole time while he remained straight-faced? He looked younger, brighter even as a cut-off chuckle escaped his lips. 

“Three bedrooms, two baths. Happy?” His shift in demeanor suddenly reminded her of a cat toying confidently with its prey.

Her shoulders fell, but her face heated with embarrassment from her little outburst. “Ecstatic,” She murmured toward the passenger side window. 

She physically relaxed, knowing there would be a separate space for her to die of embarrassment in peace. Victor’s presence in the car was looming enough to make her feel as if she needed to hunch over. Even when quiet, Victor knew how to command a room with body language alone. The little she knew about him, the more she wanted to build her own wall up. She didn’t know what he was like and wasn’t sure if it would be safe to know. Despite his large and in charge presence, she sat straight as a board. Chin up and gaze high, she felt as if she beat her own nerves in a battle of strength.  

She pondered on how, as one of the most powerful men in the world, Victor could be one of so many things. Some of those things could be highly unpleasant, but he hardly seemed the type to be truly villainous. Victor drove her with him to the airport when all the taxis refused to go due to the blizzard. Why was that? What did the CEO of LFG want with one of its lowly employees? They weren’t even in the same league, hell they weren’t even on the same planet in her mind.  

She had to admit it, though, he piqued her curiosity on a regular basis. What if she just got to know a small bit of what he was about? She could ask questions later when they had nothing to do but sit around waiting for their phones to charge. Maybe she would find out something she hated about him and use that as fuel to end this hold he had on her. 

“How long is this road…” She questioned, exasperated by the unseen bumpiness of the trail. The white powder blanketed the gravel, making the seemingly smooth ride extra jumpy. She tried not to sound like a spoiled child, but the hours in the car had drained her entirely.

“It’s about a mile. The lake is a mile and a half from the main road.” He answered calmly, keeping his alert eyes glued on the road. 

“A lake? So this is a lake house? How cool! I wonder if we can see any fishes!” She clasped her hands together in excitement. The only memory she had of a lake was when she was a child, and her father took her fishing with tiny weenie pieces. It worked, reeling in some massive catfish and a few other varieties. She was too young to remember where this lake was located, but the memory of her dad tossing her fish back after they were caught was burned into her mind. 

“I doubt we would be able to see them this time of year. If I recall correctly, the lake should be frozen over by now. The fish will be deep down, most likely hibernating.” He adjusted his seating and clicked the windshield wipers on full blast. He peered over the dash, looking out the window as they slowly descended the road. “Also, It wouldn’t be smart taking a stroll outside in this weather.” She noticed the quick glance he made in her direction as she rubbed her hands together. The heater blew full blast, but it was fighting an unwinnable battle. The cold air outside was indeed bone-chilling and unbeatable in its frigidness. The heater helped little if any at all. 

“Fair enough.” She sunk back into the chair, dejected. She wanted to add that he would have to bring her here in the summer when the fish were lively, and the weather was more pleasant, but that felt inappropriate to ask that of someone she hardly knew.

This little detour seemed bleak compared to her prior plans. A fun New Year party was to be held at her studio apartment, full of her close friends and plenty of champagne. They even decorated her house before her trip because they were so excited. Instead, she will be cracking open a water bottle with the CEO of being bossy and going to bed early since there was absolutely nothing to do without her laptop. The temperature is most definitely going to drop at night, and being huddled in many blankets seemed more appealing than staying up without one.

She hadn’t noticed the corner of the house come into view due to the thick snowfall. Slivers of red-painted exterior began to peak out from a white curtain once Victor drew the car closer. She couldn’t see how big the place was, or what its orientation was to the lakeside, but knew there was definitely an abode there for them to seek shelter. 

Once parked, the two quickly gathered their things before Victor turned off the vehicle. They donned their scarfs and gloves in order to make the small trek. He directed her towards the front down through the heavy snow with a loud shout. Thanks to the storm, the car was out of view by the time they made it to the porch. Victor used his foot to sweep off the three steps to the door before she made the small journey herself. 

“Thanks,” She mumbled, looking away from him.

“I just don’t want you to fall. The last thing we need is a medical emergency in this weather.” He assured her, flipping open the box the handle and using the number pad on the doorknob to unlock it. “Or you sitting around here with a black eye, wearing the badge of your clumsiness for all to see.” 

“Gee, thanks,” She puffed sarcastically, holding the corners of her lips in place. It was difficult to stave off her emotions, and her face muscles twitched against her will. In the end, a small smile splayed on her face. It didn’t seem as if he were treating her like a child, only that of a women he looked after. Maybe for someone he hated he wouldn’t have wiped the snow away, maybe. 

Both of them poured inside, and Victor quickly shut the door behind them. Sprinkles of snow scattered around them on the navy carpet. They both caught their breath, finally in stagnant air. Somehow the inside of the house felt colder than the outside, and soon she was chilled to the bone.

“I’m uh,” Victor quickly rubbed his gloved hands together and looked around the unfamiliar space. He brushed the snow off his shoulders and thick coat. Taking one glove off, he ran his fingers through his hair and dislodged puffs of ice. “I’m going to turn on the heater and start a fire in the living room. Pick whatever bedroom you want and settle in. It should be getting warmer in here soon.”

He slowly nodded to her, silently asking if she understood. He huffed air as his lungs struggled to process the chilly air into usable oxygen. His cheeks were flushed several shades of pink from the temperature as he continued to suck in deep breaths. 

“Sounds good to me, thank you.” She pulled the handle of her bag and rolled it through the living room. She tried to keep the shivering to a minimum, not wanting to worry Victor. A single crease appeared on his forehead that she’d yet to see before. It seemed to be the first sign of worry, the first one she’d noticed at least. 

The smell of the old cabin began to replace the scent of Victor’s cologne that had permeated the car for the past several hours. She was almost sad to be rid of that unique smell but tried to put that ridiculous thought out of her mind. She was free to put a door between herself and her boss, the barrier she imagined the whole car ride. Willing herself to be happy about that, she pushed her heels to move faster toward the row of bedrooms. 

Victor left his luggage at the front door and bolted to the den. She presumed the heater dial was in that room. He’d been here before many many years ago, but evidently still remembered the basic layout of the place. She also trusted him, whether she admitted it or not, to be able to figure it out on his own. 

She pushed open a door, hearing the hinges squeak as she revealed the space. A large bed fully stocked with tons of decorative pillows, plush blankets, and a sizable frilly canopy came into view. The moment struck her as creepy since the room occupied no one for who knows how long. When was the last time this bed was properly slept in? Months? Years even? She looked around the hallway but decided she would take the first room she saw. Most of the other rooms were sure to feel just as stark as this one despite the furnishings. It wasn’t dusty either, which added to the strange vibe.

Remembering her circumstances, she quickly shut the door behind her. Her heart raced as she put her back against the solid wood. It was true, she was alone with Victor in this small cabin for the night. His proximity in the car had been bearable, but his closeness in this cabin seems far more intimate. 

She took off her boots and exchanged them for an extra pair of fuzzy socks. Her fashion-forward coat was swapped for a more comfortable plush hoodie. She took down her hair and brushed out the curls, letting her soft strands frame her face. 

She sat her luggage on the bed and placed her items around it to find what she needed easily. She lit a large candle that was atop the vanity with a lighter located in the drawer below. The label said it was supposed to be vanilla, but it was so old it didn’t seem to have a fragrance anymore. It was no matter to her. The gentle warm flame gave the room a breath of life. The longer the candle burned, and her stuff filled the room, the less odd the space felt. The vibe became that of a luxury hotel room, one that she wouldn’t be able to afford in a million years. 

Soon, a hum came over the space, and the scent of burning dust began to fill the room from the overhead vents. Victor finally got the heater to work in the cabin. It brought about memories of the first cold snap every year, always after what seemed to be a long grueling summer. Turning on the heater for the first time still induced a harsh smell at first, but soon the heat would encompass the house and make the space more bearable and relaxing.

In the mirror, she touched her finger to her lips and felt how dry they were. The tip of her nose and cheeks were also a deep shade of red. She hurriedly took out her chapstick and lotion from her bag, then smoothed it over her parched skin. She hoped Victor didn’t think anything of it when she saw him. She wasn’t trying to dress up for him, just making sure her dry skin was quenched. Her racing heart distracted her momentarily. It was hard to tell who she was trying to convince with that notion. 

A knock on the door made her jump. She became so comfortable with her new warmer surroundings that she forgot she wasn’t truly alone. 

“Yes?” She called out while she sat at the vanity, holding her plush sweater closed over her chest. 

“The fireplace is lit.” His voice began, muffled from the thick wood. “I’m going to start making food in a bit. It’s almost eight. We can eat and try to get some sleep-” Victor stopped speaking when she opened the door.

She looked up at him as he stood straighter. Clearing his throat, he took a step back from her and continued in a quieter voice. “Once we wake up in the morning, I will check the weather and make sure the roads are cleared, and flights are back on so we can leave.” 

“Sounds like a good plan. Are there any chargers in this place? My phone is as good as a brick.” She pulled the device out of her pocket and clicked the power button. Nothing happened, and she sighed longingly. 

“There are some chargers in the bedside table. Feel free to… make yourself at home.” They exchanged a silent look before he turned around to walk away. “Dinner will be ready soon. Settle in but meet me in the kitchen at eight sharp. All we have are things in cans, so no complaining.” 

Once he was out of view, she rushed back into the room to the bedside table. The drawer was full of different items, an eye mask, earplugs, tissues, old-style headphones, and a small black charger. “Ah, ha!” She exclaimed, pulling the cord out of the drawer. She found a nearby plug and pushed it into the wall. She then pulled the other end to her and stopped dead in her tracks. “Uh oh…” 

The charger was the old model style. Their phones had been upgraded many times over the years, and this charger was obsolete. She dropped the cord and left the bedroom with haste. 

“Victor!” She shouted into the unfamiliar house. Her chest began to tighten as her feet moved through the house without much thought. 

She heard a clunk coming from the kitchen area and rushed into the room. 

“Yes?” His urgent voice was laced with a hint of annoyance as if he didn’t want to sound too invested in whatever she was panicking about. 

“The chargers are duds! They don’t work with our newer phones!” She could feel panic begin to rise in her chest. “Are there any more? Should I check the other rooms?!” Words spilled out past her lips with rapid speed.

“Relax. Everything is going to be fine as long as you don’t freak out unnecessarily.” He set down the bowl he was messing with and walked to her. He took a pointed pause and looked down at her hand, where she held the dead phone. “We will think of something, okay? Once the storm passes, we have a means to get out of here. We’re not stuck.” 

“We’re not stuck.” She repeated, counting her breaths. “We’re not stuck.”

“We are not stuck,” Victor added matter-of-factly in a deeper tone. 

“We are definitely not stuck here.” She stated again, counting to 10 on her next breath. 

“Go sit in front of the fireplace for a while; it feels nice.” Victor gestured toward the den. “Pull a book off the shelf and see if you can distract yourself for a while.” He didn’t come off as rude or commanding, only cool-headed. He sounded like the only sane person for miles. 

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.” 

Books never failed to calm her, no matter the context. If it were a boring book, it would bore her to sleep, and she would have no worries for a time. If it had action, it would keep her glued to the pages to see what happened next, keeping her mind from thinking about her current struggles. Books were always a win. 

Walking to the living room in a daze, she heard Victor opening and closing drawers once more. She planted her feet, one after another toward the living area. It took all her resolve to not take off in a full sprint out the front door. She wanted to get away, get far far away from this crazy scenario. The familiar mild scent of singed dust that accompanied the heater became even more faint as she entered the living room. 

The fire gently crackled and popped, illuminating the space around it with a gentle glow. The scent of cinder hit her nose, and her shoulders immediately relaxed. A smile touched her lips when she saw the massive bookshelf. The sight of the variety alone put her at ease. Fiction, non-fiction, even an arts and craft book poked out among the leather-bound classics.

She tried to think of this as an impromptu vacation and not an emergency stay. They were in no immediate danger, and she could rest easy knowing she had food and a place to sleep tonight. 

Several minutes went by as she sat cross-legged on the couch, a blanket over her legs, and a book in her lap. The light smell of chicken mixed with the charred embers in the room made her stomach let out a tiny cry. The clock on the mantel showed it wasn’t quite eight yet, so she settled back against the couch and engrossed herself once more in the action book. 

Several moments passed as she became invested in her storybook before she heard footsteps. 

“Come to the kitchen.” Victor walked into the room and looked at the state she was in. 

She was slumped against the armrest while pillows surrounded her legs. She felt for a moment as if she were caught red-handed doing something she wasn’t supposed to. However, she chalked the feeling up to being in only professional settings with Victor all this time until now. He’d never seen her properly sprawled out in full-on relax mode. 

“Is the food ready?” She asked, slowly slipping her feet to the plush carpet below. Her socks kept her toes warm outside of the throw blanket. 

“Yes.” Was all he said. Victor looked her over thoughtfully before tearing his eyes away and leaving the room.

She padded after him towards the kitchen and stopped dead in her tracks. Her vision filled with a fully stocked plate in front of her. Many different types of sides arranged meticulously in a circle atop very old glass plates surprised her. Almost none of the items went together, chicken salad, stewed carrots, and cranberry sauce littered the plate with other various creations.

“Are you hungry?” He tapped his fingers on the table, teasing that he was not amused with her just standing there. “Sit,” He gestured to the seat in front of him. “Eat up. The food will get cold.” 

Her eyes stayed on the plate as she circled the kitchen and made her way to the table. 

“I’m curious,” She stared, chair legs scraping the floor. “How did you manage something so delicious looking with only having non-perishables at your disposal?” 

“Does it matter?” His forehead pinched. “It’s a warm meal. Eat up, and don’t complain how it got here.” 

“I wasn’t complaining. I-”

“You haven’t eaten since breakfast. You need the nutrients and fuel. Plus, you can sleep easier tonight with a full stomach.”

This was true. She hadn’t eaten since she left for the airport. She figured once she got to her gate, she would grab a burrito and smoothie from the nearest restaurant and pack it away with her on the plane. However, she never made it to the airport and missed lunch entirely. 

“Well, Thank you.” She spoke before stuffing a fork full of food into her mouth. 

Victor met her eyes and nodded slightly. They ate their meal in silence until the very last bite. The only sounds for minutes were silverware hitting the plate and the wind outside gushing past the window in spurts. He looked amused as she tried to scrape the last little bit of sauce off the plate with her fork. 

“Why don’t you just lick the plate already?” He smiled smugly and took his plate to the sink. 

“I almost want to.” She teased back. “This was the best meal I’ve had in a long time.” 

He looked out the window at the night sky while flurries of snow lazily fell to the ground. “Don’t mention it. Now go to bed.”  

“Already?!” She protested. “I just ate, I need a second to process it before I lay down. I-I could get heartburn!”

He cut his eyes at her as he left the room. He turned his head away the second before She thought she could see a smile. “Have it your way. It’s late, and I have nothing to do. I will tend to the fireplace then I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” 

“Oh… goodnight.” She murmured as he left the threshold. 

The door at the far end of the hall clicked shut, and she sat in silence for a long moment. The heater hummed warm air into the room while she sat with her own thoughts. She didn’t know how late it was since her phone was dead and the clock on the wall’s batteries died long ago. The hands were stuck at 12:06 for who knows how long. She’d have to check the clock in the living room if she cared to know. 

She sighed and took her plate to the sink. She washed both dishes and watched out the kitchen window. It sure was boring without anything to catch up on or watch. A yawn grew on her lips, and she decided that sleep was probably the best option. Once she awoke, it would be a new day, and they could get out of here. 

Switching off the lights in the kitchen and living room, she made her way to the bedroom. Her mind moved to the fabulous meal Victor had made and wondered what else he was good at. He seemed to be the best at anything he tried, and it made her slightly impressed but also mildly annoyed. She thought that no one should have that much power, to be good at all things they put their mind too. 

As she shut the heavy oak door, the pipes in the walls whistled and hissed, indicating the use of running water. The realization he was taking a shower dawned on her. The thought alone caused heat to touch the tips of her cheeks. It was a stark contrast to the cold sensation she’d been feeling all day, almost like a relief from the cold. The awareness only grew as she changed into her nightclothes and realized she ought to shower too. He was probably using up all the hot water, but a bath might actually be just the stuff to help ease her chilled bones to sleep. 

She gathered her soaps and nightclothes and entered the bathroom that was joined to the bedroom. The small room quickly populated with swirly steam as she filled the large garden tub with piping hot water. The lavender bubble bath she found beneath the sink proved to make the most enormous bath bubbles she had ever seen.

Foam rose over the surface of the water while she immersed her body beneath the heat. Her muscles quickly released tension with every inch she slipped beneath the silky smooth water. The ends of her hair dipped in the lavender-scented liquid while fizzing bubbles formed promptly at her feet. 

She used her big toe to turn off the running water when the tub was filled to the brim. She then sat there motionless, listening to the bubbles fizz and pop as they died out one by one. As she closed her eyes, her mind immediately went to Victor’s face. She opened her lids to see a blank wall and to shake her head of his image. 

The last thing she needed was to read into this situation with him and hope for an outcome that would never happen. After all these months of working directly for him, Victor never once dropped a bone for her to pick up. He was a busy man, too busy for anything frivolous like dating. Especially busy for any mindless chatter. Today was the most she’d ever spoken to him about things that didn’t concern work. It was slightly refreshing to hear his words not carry so much weight. However, she did miss the routine of their conversations. 

He would present her with a problem and ask her to take it to her department. She would then hold a meeting to brainstorm the issue and find a solution. After that, her next words to him were in another meeting. She’d stand in front of all the other leaders and recall their solution via PowerPoint or bar graph. Victor would have some questions and always seemed invested in her work, but not too much where she thought he might actually care about her specifically. No, he cared about how the department was flourishing and how it benefited his company. 

She sighed, and the bubbles on her chest went flying with the gust. Foam coated the wall and slid down the edge of the tub to the floor. As she sat silently, she heard the pipes shut off. Victor had turned off the water to his shower. 

Gulping, she looked away from the wall, trying not to think of his current state. While working so hard not to think of it, the curiosity only grew. What did his broad shoulders look like below that tailored suit? Was his black hair somehow darker while soaking wet? Was Victor the kind of guy to dry his body first or his hair? 

Her foot slipped off the edge of the tub and splashed water all over the bathroom floor. Her face was hot, and warm water helped droplets of sweat start to bead along her forehead. This was the first time she’d felt truly warm in weeks thanks to the relentless snow in the forecast. 

Wiping the sweat from her brow, she decidedly ignored the inner heat blooming. In another life, so many possibilities could happen here in the cabin alone with Victor. So many things that were beyond the realm of what she knew to be possible in her life. He wasn’t the type to go against his own rules and date someone from work. And he definitely wasn’t the type to go after someone with a low status such as herself. 

She was sure Victor had his pick of any model or actress that strutted the earth. He was on the tip of everyone’s tongue year-round when the tabloids spoke of eligible bachelors. It’s not like she ever read any of them, but they were always there next to the checkout lanes at her local grocery store. Curiosity sometimes got the better of her, and she would take a peek, but only a quick one. 

She twisted in the tub, realizing the water was cooling at an increasingly rapid rate thanks to the dropping temperatures outside. In a flash, she washed up quickly and hopped out to cover her chilled skin with a soft towel. She wiped her face dry and stared at her silhouette in the fogged mirror. What if Victor was staring at his mirror just the same? What if they were looking right at one another from separate rooms? What if a man like that craved a woman like her…? What if…

Annoyed by her crush and ridiculous fantasies, she left for her room. She layered a fresh set of pajamas with an extra sweatshirt and two pairs of thick socks. She lay in the darkroom, staring up at the canopy that covered the bed, and sighed. She was hopelessly into Victor, and she wished with all her heart she wouldn’t be.

They both went on a group business trip to the same city, taking a four-hour plane ride to get here. However, the group that went with them were smart and ended up leaving early before the storm hit. Victor had to stay due to a few extra meetings his secretary set up for him on short notice. She stayed for the meetings pertaining to LFG itself to be up to date on the latest information. Ah, what was she kidding? She remained so she could stare at Victor from the corner of her eye for just a few more hours. She had no idea what the meetings were about even. All her notes were scribbles, making it look like she was paying attention. That plan to watch him just a tad longer had either severely backfired, or went better than she could have ever imagined. 

Unable to sleep, she kept her eyes upward while her mind roamed wildly. Se soon noticed that she could suddenly see her own breath in the room. The old heater couldn’t keep up with the outsides dropping temperature. Thick clothes and two plush comforters still left her shivering, cold to the bone. She wondered if she should lay her head away from the window and try to sleep that way, but then her feet would be the ones freezing. 

She tossed and turned for what felt like hours, unable to sleep due to the intense cold. She shivered until her teeth chattering made her jaw sore. It was a moot point to try to get any kind of sleep like this. It was decided that she would hunt for more blankets, maybe even see if they had any electric blankets stowed away somewhere. 

With her hood up, she marched down the dark hall with a blanket over her shoulders. She padded atop the carpet toward the end of the hall. There was a skinnier door, and she assumed the owners might have stored extra items in there. 

As soon as she opened the door, a pillow leaped off the shelf. “Ah!” She moved to the side and let it fall while ruffling through the shelves. Sheet, sheet, pillowcase… she pushed items aside. The closet was overstuffed with linens of all types. She jumped toward the top shelf and yanked down on the article above. 

Another couple of pillows toppled over and landed on her head. “Oof!” She exclaimed, voice muffled by the dense feather pillow. 

“It’s two am.” She heard a sudden voice boom from the other side of the hall. 

“Oh!” She yelped, losing her balance. She hadn’t even heard his door open in all the commotion. “Ah-ha… I was just looking…” She tried to stuff the half pulled out blanket back into the storage closet and put her hands behind her back. “Sorry if I was loud.” She looked down at her feet briefly.

“What are you doing out here?” He walked toward the mess of bedding littered around her. 

His night outfit made her gawk. She’d never seen Victor wearing such a casual outfit. An over-sized dark blue sweater with black sweatpants and bright white socks. He ruffled his fluffier than usual hair. It looked soft but not as sleek as his conventional hair products made it seem. He almost looked boyish and the adventurous type. Victor resembled the guy next door that would come over to fix your sink when it broke or ask for a cup of milk he’d forgotten he’d needed in a recipe he was making. Almost. Despite his modern casual look, she knew better. She was more familiar with what power he held than most of the public. 

“I was trying to get another blanket. It’s so cold I can’t even fall asleep…” She pushed up on her tippy toes and put her foot flat back on the ground, rocking on her heels. “So uh, the solution was to look in this hall closet.” 

Victor nodded slowly. Soft, weary eyes assessing the situation. “I see.” 

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” She looked at the mess on the floor. “And I’ll clean this up.” 

With pinched lips, Victor walked over to her. Abruptly looming in her space, she held her breath. Victor reached up above her and pulled the blanket she’d already dislodged down with ease. He handed it to her and placed his hand on his hip. 

“You didn’t wake me. I am also having trouble sleeping in the cold. I have the heater going as high as it’ll go.” He looked off toward a nearby window and then back to her. “It seems to be dropping well below the negatives outside.” He scratched his head thoughtfully.

“I did hear the weatherman say that was a possibility.” She balled the blanket up in her arms and stepped out of the mess she made.

“Well-

“If-”

They spoke at the same time, then swiftly stopped simultaneously. She chewed her bottom lip with watchful eyes, and Victor knitted his brows and crossed his arms. 

“Go ahead,” 

“No, you, uh, go first…” She took a deep breath of the chilled air around her. The house was quiet despite their audible breathing and the sound of the heater blowing above them in vain.  

“Dummy, ladies first.” He quipped, taking a more dominating stance before her.

Breathing in a sharp inhale, she put her foot down. “I was just going to say, goodnight? Uh, see you tomorrow.” 

“You think adding one more measly blanket is going to keep you warm enough to sleep?” He sounded indignant, giving her a side-eye with a hint attitude. 

“I was hoping it would.” 

He scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“Okay,” She pressed on. “Do you have another solution?”

He seemed to be choosing his words carefully, tasting them thoroughly on his tongue before he laced them together into a verbal thought. Victor looked her in the eye for a long consuming moment. She was captivated by his intensity, keeping her lungs from filling completely with each cool gasp. 

His gaze abruptly moved away, almost bashfully she noted, and she was finally able to breathe easy again. She thanked her lucky stars he broke eye contact first. It was like staring down a wild dog, and the first one to move was the weakest link. She had no fear of Victor, only immense curiosity and respect for what he did. 

He clicked his tongue, and his velvety voice broke the silence. “I can stoke the fireplace and get it going again.”

“Okay? And then what? Toss ourselves into it to stay warm?” 

“Don’t try to be funny.” He narrowed his steely eyes. It seemed difficult for him to articulate what he wanted outright. 

“So we warm-up and then try to go back to bed?” She wove the blanket around her arms tighter. She wondered, idly, why she felt so incredibly small at that moment. 

Victor perked up like he had it all planned out suddenly. “Grab as many blankets as you can, and I will do the same. We will take them to the living room and see if that is any warmer.”

She gulped audibly. “Alright, I will grab my pillows too. If this is the only way to get warm, then it’s what we have to do.” 

“It is. Now go get your stuff and hurry to the living room.”

.

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Thank you for reading! This was supposed to be a oneshot but I kept sitting on it and adding to it and... well now its over 10k words long. So I had to split it up into a few chapters. I hope you enjoyed this! 

Rating notice, based on how the story unfolds I may up the rating. Not sure how the story will go entirely yet but I will let it flow naturally and not force anything <3

Masterlist is at the top of my blog~

[charliejrogers]

Under the Skin (2014) - Review

For a lot of science fiction movies, I find myself enjoying the ideas of the film more than I think I actually enjoyed the film. It’s what I’ll refer to as the Annihilation-syndrome, named after the 2018 movie that I found to be an absolute bore while also being an exceedingly intellectually stimulating discussion about the nature of cancer, mutation, and biology in general. The film I am reviewing now, 2014’s Under the Skin, honestly is nowhere near as unenjoyable as Annihilation, but I mention the film because I think much of this review will focus on the really interesting ideas this movie brought up which might make you think I thought this is a masterpiece. It’s not. It’s good, very good even, but not as good as its theme and ideas.

A lot of my restrained enthusiasm has to do with the fact that the film is purposefully cryptic and full of esoteric imagery. While there are spoken parts, I don’t think much would be lost if we couldn’t hear what was being said. That is to say, the dialogue doesn’t do much to make sense of what we are seeing displayed on screen.In fact, there are large sections of characters interacting without any dialogue, yet everything is understood.

To its credit, what we are seeing is largely very beautiful from a cinematography point of view. Much of the film takes place in the city of Edinbugh, Scotland and it captures well the urban grit of the city and how our protganoist fits well within that urban environment. The way the red lights of Edinburgh’s traffic lighst cast a foreboding, menacing band over the protagonist’s eyes as she drives about town on the hunt for men to ensnare in her trap shows that this dangerous character is right at home in the anonymity of the city.

The protagonist is played by Scarlett Johansson, who spends most of the film alternating between being the pinnacle of seduction in the eyes of the heterosexual male gaze and being a lifeless void. That’s because Johansson plays an alien (I think) or at the very least a humanoid being who seems to have the sole purpose of finding lonely men, taking them back to her lair, and trapping them in a sunken-place-like void where ultimately everything but their skin is extracted from them. I’ll henceforth refer to this character simply as “the humanoid” with she/her pronouns for clarity. We never learn the humanoid’s motivations, but we know that she’s not acting alone. She’s supported in her ventures by a (presumably) humanoid motorcycle gang who also double as agents who will clean up her messes.

At the beginning of the film, the humanoid appears to have no free will or consciousness. When she comes across her first dead body, she is more interested with the ant crawling along the body than the woman who used to inhabit that body. She simply steals that woman’s clothes, and begins acting out what seems like a pre-designed course for finding and trapping men. As soon as she has completed an interaction with a human, all of the emotion drains straight out of her face. Johansson’s face takes on a scary lifelessness on par with Billy Skarsgård’s Pennywise the clown from the It movies. There’s a scene where the humanoid, in the process of attracting a new victim, stumbles across an infant that has been abandoned at the beach and is screaming out. Perhaps the director is toying with audiences’ biases that the humanoid, appearing as she does as a human woman, will “naturally” want to reach out and save this baby. That she doesn’t seems to signal to the highest degree that this “woman” is no woman at all, but a cold, merciless something else.

Yet, somehow, by the end of this movie, I found all my sympathies lying entirely with this decidedly inhuman killing machine who makes her living preying on people just like me. This is because something happens that changes the humanoid about midway through the movie. Up to that point, it would be easy to classify the film as a feminist revenge fantasy, where men’s penchant for objectifying women and their aggressive desire to “conquer” women is met with a dish that is served so very coldly. It’s oddly satisfying to watch men who will blindly get into a car with a complete stranger and follow her into a creepy house just because they want to fuck her, end up being exposed as little more than skin around a bag of meat.

But then the humanoid comes across a man whose face deviates greatly from the norm due to some unnamed medical condition. It very much resembles the face of the protagonist from The Elephant Man. He is out an a walk at night to the grocery store. The humanoid doesn’t see him like the rest of the world does. She doesn’t understand how insensitive her genuine question about why he shops at night might be to him. In a darkly ironic sense, she’s the first person in his life to truly see him as a man and not a hideous monster. He has none of the arrogant sexual bravado like the humanoid’s prior victims. He’s sexually innocent, a virgin. When she offers to take him back to her place, he doesn’t take pride in any successful conquest. We see that he’s pinching himself just to prove that he’s not dreaming. It’s a heartbreaking sequence. Whereas we may have been on board, at least symbolically, with the humanoid’s cool takedown of the patriarchy, this particular abduction flips the script. Our sympathies lie more with the man than the “woman.”

Why he doesn’t succumb to the same fate as the other men is not clear. Notably, he’s the first we’ve seen that isn’t fully erect despite the humanoid ardent attempts at seduction. Secondly, he’s like the first to take some stock of the fact that he’s been lured into some black void from another dimension. He obviously finds Johansson attractive, but it’s almost like he is more amazed by what is happening, his penis “disarmed” so to speak, compared to those who came before him who were “armed” to conquer. And in lacking their sexual aggression, he was deemed to have a “lighter”, purer heart, preventing him from sinking into the deep of her trap.

This seems to change the humanoid. It’s as if she questions her whole purpose in life up to that point. Maybe all those men who had come before were as gentle as sweet as this one. Or maybe she yearns to be more than a monster.

Previously we had seen the humanoid stare at women from her car in much the same she looked at men, yet we never see her take women as a victim. It’s more like she was curious by these creatures, like she didn’t know they would be there. She shows the same curiosity towards her own body. She stares at it, hugs her curves. Just after her encounter with the man with the dysmorphic face, she looks long at her face in the mirror and then at a fly stuck to a window. It’s as if she’s looking at how she looks to others (humanoid) compared to what she really is (more like a bug, an alien). As the film goes on, it’s almost as if she’s trying to convince herself the skin is not a farce, that it’s really her, that she’s real, and that there’s nothing else under the skin. There’s an ironic beauty in the dysmorphic man wanting to be seen for what’s on the inside where she wants to be seen for her outside.

We subsequently see the humanoid undergo something of a coming-of-age as she flees into the more rural surroundings of the bogs of Scotland, presumably to avoid her motorcycle-driving allies who don’t want her to veer off course. The camera work in this part of the film highlights her as a stranger in this strange land, with her hot pink sweater standing in stark contrast to the drab Scottish milieu. And truly from the rocky/pebbly beach below the impossibly high bluffs at the ocean to the Mars-like desert shrubbery of the bogs, Scotland has never made Earth look so alien. Yet it’s in this foreign land, far from the trappings of the dirty city that the humanoid experiences the pleasure of being a human, or more specifically being a woman. For a few days she is even one man’s princess, and I think it confuses her so much that she enjoys it.

The genius of this film is the way it makes you forget that the humanoid isn’t actually human. In the latter half of the movie we celebrate her cautious steps towards humanity. There is a love scene that is among the most intimate I’ve seen filmed. Yet, we also fear for her and feel sorry for her when her fantasy comes crashing down and it is revealed to her and to us that her initial approach to men proves was much more appropriate.

This is a slow film that rewards patience, but ultimately it doesn’t do much to excite. There are abstract sequences of light and color accompanied by discordant sounds of chanting that seem straight out of the Jupiter sequence from 2001: A Space Odyssey. These do little more than confuse, and sometimes bore. And even if the lack of excitement is deliberate (perhaps intended to deconstruct female seduction) that doesn’t make it anymore enjoyable. Still, it is a beautifully shot picture that provides a stunning condemnation of our male dominated society. It would manage to make even the most bitter-hearted viewer feel sympathy for a humanoid who just a half-hour ago was on a cold-blooded murder streak. Still, even if it doesn’t introduce any hard-hitting questions about humanity like the best sci-fi, in the end it revels in a different dominant theme of sci-fi: no matter the monster man meets, man is always the ultimate monster.

 *** (Three out of four stars)

[my-dandelion-darling]

Curiosity of a Mouse

For the Shobbs Summer Fic Exchange. My gift to @nix1327 I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! This was super fun and not something I think I would have done if not for your prompt. And a big thanks to @omnivorousshipper for hosting this! 

I don’t have an AO3 currently but this helped me get back in to writing and I’m very thankful to you all for that ❤

Hobbs and Shaw sat at the meeting table at Nowhere, they were summoned by Mr.Nobody for a new mission. No information was given and so the two men were left to sit and wait. Normally they’d be ready to beat each other to oblivion, but they were under strict orders to be patient for Mr.Nobody. The aura between them felt awkward and uncomfortable like a constant buzzing. They gave each other side glances and dirty looks. Just as they opened their mouths to start something-.

"Afternoon gentlemen," Mr.Nobody said with a large grin on his face, buttoning his suit and adjusting his cufflinks as he walked into the glass room. "Thank you for joining me here today. I saw that everything went well with Eteon and wanted to say congratulations. Job well done."

"Spare the theatrics Nobody, what do you want?" Luke Hobbs interrupted the older man, "It better be worth my time if you took me from spending time with my daughter and setting me up again with Queen Elizabeth over here."

"Fuck off you overgrown badger. An attitude like that won't roll over for Miss America." Deckard Shaw snickered, sitting with his legs crossed on the office chair.

"You running out of insults there, Princess? Just you wait, this overgrown badger will beat your ass into next week" Hobbs stood walking over to Deckard so his body was leaning over the smaller man to show his raging mass. The tension that filled the room elevated by their remarks.

"Big talk from a man with a big mouth" Shaw tested, looking up at the built man above him.

"That ain't the only thing big about me," Hobbs replied, slamming his hands down on the chair arms to intimidate Shaw.

"Settle down gentlemen, I brought you here for a reason and it involves more than your constant antics. See this is what I was looking for… you two are going to be supervising," Mr. Nobody announced, getting their attention as he cleaned off the lens of his shades acting as his main focus.

"Supervising what?" Both Hobbs and Shaw said in unison looking towards Mr.Nobody.

"Your new trainee." He answered glancing up from his side task.

"What?" They both shouted.

"No way are you getting me to babysit some little desk mouse." Shaw spat with his eyes piercing at Mr. Nobody.

"Oh but he's more than that…. See he's moved up in the ranks and placed top of his classes faster than any other agent. Aside from you two of course. Although he's not affiliated with any agency, he's not exactly a mercenary either." Mr. Nobody replied, opening his arms, while he gave the new information.

"What new lab rat did you make this time, Nobody?" Luke asked, taking his attention from the Brit next to him.

"He's a young man, Hobbs. Name is Dylan Stock or Agent Stock for short. I think you'll both learn to like him."

"What exactly are we doing?" Shaw asked.

"I'm glad you asked. He'll be shadowing you two for now. We have some missions, easy enough for three people, and quick enough to be done in a matter of days."

"You said, ‘us three?’"

"Yes I did, Luke. Both you and Mr.Shaw will show this kid the ropes… together!"

"Well why not you, Little Nobody, or some other useless pencil pusher?"

"Well, there's some business that needs to be taken care of out of the country, so with you two being local for a while, we figured this would be our best bet-"

"But"

"-And now without further interruptions, I'd like you two to meet Agent Stock." Mr.Nobody announced. A click was heard in the distance and a sleek young man walked in.

His hair was dark and curly and his body was lean but muscular. His face had stubble and his eyes were a light green color. 

"Welcome in Agent."

The man practically tiptoed into the small meeting room and stood on the opposite side of the table.

"Hello my name's Dylan, I've been informed of our arrangement and look forward to learning from you." He said in a somewhat nervous voice. He couldn't have been over the age of twenty-seven especially when comparing his height to the others. He was clearly a few inches shorter then Deckard himself. 

"This is the mouse we're going to watch?" Hobbs asked. The man looked up to meet Luke's gaze and didn't skip a beat. His personality almost changing from nervous to serious in a flash.

"Ah, Luke Hobbs, former DSS agent top of his class and rank. Six foot five inches. Incredible strength, best tracker, and unorthodox investigator. Helped track down Dominic Torreto and his 'family' along with your current partner Deckard Shaw." 

"Huh," Deckard chuckled looking over Stock.

"And speaking of Deckard Shaw," Dylan’s eyes darted towards the other agent, "... or should I say ex-prisoner 6753. Former MI6 agent and international mercenary, master in martial arts and explosive expertise. Son of Magdalene Shaw, the sibling to Owen and Hattie Shaw. Now those two have very interesting files as well." Dylan finished, ending that last sentence with a smirk.

"Aren't you such a good bookworm," Deckard spat.

"He's brushed up on everything about you two," Nobody interjected.

"I am adequate in all forms of tech and hacking, along with multilingual books and reports." He mentioned, his voice firm.

"Now, Now. Settle down, these two aren't going to bite," Nobody said trying to calm the tension in the room. "You'll just be watching and sending in reports of your findings. Nothing too hard."

"Uhh… yes… sorry” Dylan sputtered, his nervousness returning, “Sounds easy enough I look forward to working with you."

“Great! So your first mission starts in Los Angeles.” Mr.Nobody exclaimed. 

-

It had been a week since Agent Stock teamed up with Hobbs and Shaw. Within that time, they had already derailed a drug-smuggling ring taking place in Las Vegas and also found a new lead on a high deal basement deal involving human trafficking. 

Apparently, after finding and recovering the head leader of the ring, he was also involved in an exclusive and highly expensive trafficking ring. This type of ring was hard to find and very little information was passed around and rumors started that senators and other high-status characters were a part of the guest list.

Not only were these events recorded and written out to incredible detail by Agent Stock, but he was also given a new nickname along the way, Mouse. Dylan wasn’t very happy about the change, but knowing the two men, it seemed like a normal occurrence. He would be so preoccupied watching the Samoan and Brit bicker that they wouldn’t even notice him around.

Not only were his associates on the brink of what looked like strangling each other at every turn on the mission or spitting third-grade remarks, but he was also starting to see something happen every time. Of course, he wasn't going to mention this in his files, but it seems like everyone else knew. After three days of handling the case along with Luke and Deckard, they had decided this was a much more careful mission that needed to be handled with family.

He had seen their planning and how well Dom and his family had set up everything. They were a true dream team with techs, muscle, and definitely experience. They all worked so well together… and so did Hobbs and Shaw, surprisingly.

Back at Nowhere, Luke walked over to Deckard with coffee in each hand. He stood next to Deckard, who was sitting at his computer, as he gave him a cup.

"Hey Princess, give me the stats on the possible count of guests and the dates for the auction. Check to see if our friend's drug ring has any suspicious people in on the auction," Hobbs asked, his voice serious but his actions soft as his hand moved to lay on Shaw's opposite shoulder.

"Sure thing, twinkle toes," Shaw replied ever so naturally and acting indifferent to the new touch. Hobbs applying a little bit of pressure at Deckard's mocking.

The past few days have been nonstop arguments and with every insult basically thrown at each other, they were really at the end of the line with insults. To the point where they had begun to act like an old married couple. Their words were sharp as daggers but the words they used were so mild they played off each other a little too well.

"Oh, and while you're at it, see if you can find a location and possibly find us a way in. Okay, sweetheart?" Luke added as his hand grazed across Shaw's back. It was so fast that nobody seemed to pick up on it, nobody except their shadow.

"Absolutely, my beloved bastard," Deckard said, giving him a side look and shaking his head and his fingers clicked away on the keyboard.

"Are they always like this?" Agent Stock finally asked.

"You have no idea!" Letty replied leaning against the table. "They've been like this since the day they met… a little less sweet, but generally the same."

"The day they met? How can they get anything done! I've had my fair share of grudges against my teammates but I've never seen anything like this. How did they expect me to learn anything from these two!" He shouted with his hands gesturing to the two men bickering at each other while fixing an impounded car.

"I'm sure you've seen them get at each other for the past few days," She spoke calmly, "but if you ignore all the crap they say, you can see how good of a team they are. They know what the bigger picture is and they understand each other's strengths-"

"Fuck off, you giant wanker!" Shaw's voice erupted.

"Whatever, you rotten Earl Gray cup of crap!" 

"-So with a little time you'll see," Letty finished, a smile gracing her lips as she walked over to Dom's side as they both watched the two men argue.

"C'mon guys," Dom's voice interrupted, "I think we've been cooped up in this room for a little too long now. Let's take a break and get back at this in an hour."

"So what are we gonna do?" Agent Stock asked, unsure of what his next move was.

"That sounds like a good idea," interrupted Hobbs replying to Dom, "I think I'm gonna hit the Nowhere training floor."

"Hm… maybe I'll join you. Haven't fought anyone good in the past few days. Don't wanna get rusty." Deckard announced, all eyes looking at him in slight shock. 

Stock looked between Luke and Deckard. Shaw glanced up from his laptop to meet Hobbs' eyes. 

"So finally getting that one-on-one?"

"One-on-one?" Asked Stock.

"Oh, yea!" Letty shouted, "that still hasn't happened yet?"

"I call a hundred dollars on Hobbs!" Tej's voice rang from the corner.

"Sorry but my money's on Shaw." Perked Roman, shaking Tej's shoulder.

"Well, then I guess that leaves me with the tie." Ramsey finished.

The room started with small chatting and finalizing bets. Pretty soon they had gotten the attention of Dom, Little Nobody, and Mr.Nobody all making bets. The later two back from their overseas business. Everyone's attention left both Luke and Deckard, except for a certain mouse. 

The trainee standing away from the whole business. He would rather be looking for more information and from the corner of his eye, he saw the two gentlemen leave the room. 

It's not his business to follow them. Why would he want to follow them? Well, he is shadowing them. But they're not really working a mission right now… but watching them could help him in his training. Yes, his training. So what's the harm in studying them fight… for training.

So as thoughts shot through his mind, the little mouse became a curious cat.

Dylan followed the other men's footsteps and slid out of the room undetected. He heard voices through the hallways and… was that laughter... that echoed leading him. He had never been in Nowhere and traversing the endless halls was like a maze. The dark hallways seemed empty and the doors were like matching tiles against the walls. Without really looking you couldn't tell there were even offices.

Where did they go?

"So you went after them too?" A soft accented voice surprised him from behind.

"Ramsey!" He shouted completely caught off guard. 

"Well you can't get far if you don't know where you're going" she teased walking up to him and tussling his curls.

"I'm not a kid y'know."

She giggled at his response. Her hand waving for him to follow her.

She was a suspicious girl. He read her files just like everyone else’s. The creator of God's Eye. So smart yet she looks and acts like an everyday person. She had no major criminal history or anything that would make seem her seem like a threat. She had spunk and even without meeting Dom's team she could hold her own.

"So what do you think of everyone so far?" Ramsey asked. She had led them through a hallway and up to a door that blended into the walls.

"It's not what I was expecting, in all honesty."

The door slid open revealing a stairway down.

"Hobbs and Shaw are definitely a weird pair. When I first joined Dom's 'family' nobody liked Deckard, especially when Mr.Nobody recruited him to help save Dom from Cipher. I'm sure you've heard of her? But Deck was really nice and I lent him my laptop a couple of times."

She paused for a second down the stairs, "And yet, those two would always be talking," a small grin appearing on her lips, "I remember when Hobbs had me print out some papers on Deckard. I had forgotten to give him some papers on Deckard's field stats, but before I could give it to him, he was already at him underneath another vehicle. 'Captain Deckard Shaw' he said," she quoted making her voice deeper to mimic Hobbs, "I don't know what they were talking about but after a while… they just started to laugh. And I have never seen either of them smile like that towards anybody."

She continued down the stairs, Dylan following, with a grin on her face.

Thinking back to LA, Stock had caught a few glimpses between the two and some light chuckles, but with what Ramsey was saying… what more was he missing? He didn’t suspect anything between them, especially with their obnoxious fights.

Before Stock could ask anything, Ramsey opened another door to a hidden training room. There were weights and machines for testing anybody's strength and stamina, and in the back, another door leading to a separate room for physical training. 

Dylan was captivated by the plethora of technology around him. His eyes large with intrigue. He wasn't much of a fighter, but he had a decent understanding of battle tactics.

He was focusing so hard he didn't notice that he had walked the whole room until Ramsey had grabbed him by his arm.

Grunts and loud breathing could be heard as they walked closer to the training room door. 

"Shh." She whispered and pointed to the open door making sure that the men inside didn't notice them. They walked slowly through and found a good spot in the shadows of the room that Hobbs and Shaw couldn't see them.

The training room was equipped with smash proof windows and padded flooring. Of course there would be cameras everywhere in Nowhere, even in a hidden gym like this.

Sure enough, the two men stood eight feet from each other both in fighting poses. Luke was in his regular outfit with a black tank top and cargo pants. Deckard on the other hand stood without his suit jacket and the top button was undone on his button-up shirt.

Dylan stood a good distance from the window with Ramsey, making sure they weren't spotted. His mind was racing to finally see the skills these two men had.

Both men were breathing hard and starting to sweat. Hobbs was keeping himself standing trying hard to focus on his punches and hits. He almost seemed exhausted compared to Deckard who kept his breathing steady, leaning forward with his hands out to his sides, ready for any attack.

Agent stock was mentally taking notes to the power that each man would give. He could see the fire in their eyes and their attacks practically moving in slow motion. It was like a dance.

Hobbs had taken a step for a hard swing which was dodged by Deckard who elbowed him in the back making the larger man lose his balance. 

"Thought you'd be faster on your feet, twinkle toes!" Shaw huffed turning around in a split second to face his partner.

"You don't seem to be getting many hits in yourself." Hobbs scoffed, his breathing evening out as he stood up straight and looked towards Shaw.

"That's only because you seem to be doing more damage to yourself. How bout you go sit in the corner and have a nice banana like the gorilla you are." Shaw replied.

All that action and they still argue. Ramsey giggled a little seeing Dylan's face go from excited to a sour look. 

"What?" He asked Ramsey.

"Nothing… it's just kind of cute seeing someone new getting to know how these guys act."

"Well, it's not cute that I'm missing out on combat training when they do this."

Ramsey looked the young agent up and down, "Have you ever liked someone?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Agent Stock asked while folding his arms and leaning against a nearby wall.

"It will explain why Luke and Deckard act the way they do… You may have read their files, and you may know about their training history, but you don't know who they are as people," she finished.

Dylan’s brow furrowed looking at Ramsey and looking back at the two men. 

"I know their fighting styles, how they work together, and what it’s like out in the field. Isn't that all I really need? I'm not really interested in a relationship with you all." 

"Ouch!" Ramsey exclaimed, holding a hand over her heart to exaggerate her fake pain. "That's a little harsh isn't it, Mouse-pad. Is that what they call you?"

Dylan looked at her with mild disgust. "Ugh it's Mouse," he replied folding his arms in embarrassment, his cheeks turning a shade of pink. "I don't see why they gave me that name. It's not like Stock is hard to get." His voice slightly increasing in volume.

Beside him, Ramsey tried so hard to hold back her laughter.

Her giggling continued, "Do you know who you sound like?"

Dylan calmed down and dropped his arms to his side, "Who?" He asked his voice soft again.

"Little Nobody." A smile on her face. "They did the exact same thing to him, and look at him now. He started as a trainee to Mr.Nobody too."

"Well…" he paused, "I bet he didn’t care for it then too." He said looking to Ramsey, both smiling at each other at the humorous past.

They both looked to the two men as their fight continued.

Luke and Deckard’s argument persisted in the background as small hits were given. Agent Stock noticing their kicks and punches holding less power with each throw. 

Their fighting slowed as their verbal battle continued until the two men were in a near standstill. 

“You really holding back on me, Hobbs?” Shaw asked as he took a step closer to Luke both men in calmer stances.

"Well you're not going to do much with those ballerina kicks you've been giving me," Luke said closing this distance. 

They were a foot apart. Hobbs with his arms crossed and Deckard with one hand on his hip. Both standing alone in the room.

"Sorry for holding back so that people don't worry about more bruises on your body," Shaw replied as his eyes glossed over Hobbs.

They stared at each other as Shaw's hand reached up to Luke's shoulder where a light bruise was left from a hit back in LA. His hand slowly gliding down the neckline of Luke's tight tank top.

The duo spectating the men both filled with intrigue. Ramsey was quiet as Agent Stock watched curiously at Shaw's movements. Were his eyes deceiving him? Were they really a lot closer than he initially thought?

"What's happening?" Agent Stock asked to no one in particular, his voice emphasizing his confusion.

Looking at the two, Ramsey wondered if Dylan could see what she could… progress.

"Didn't look like you could take another hit," Deckard spoke so soft only Hobbs could hear as his eyesight followed the movement of his fingertips. His foot shifting ever so slightly around Hobbs' leg bringing them closer.

Luke looked down at Deckard, leaving a smile as he chuckled at Shaw's response. Their eyes met as Hobbs leaned in ever so slightly.

Agent Stock stood frozen watching the two men, his cheeks turning a shade of red. What was happening?

But before Luke could say or do anything, his breathing hitched as a force pushed him back. Shaw's hand now faced out after tripping the larger Samoan man.

But Luke was just fast enough to grab Shaw with his outstretched hand, taking him down with him. Both of their instincts kicked in as Deckard tried putting his weight on Luke's arms and legs. But his strength was nothing as Luke slipped his leg around Deckard's and switched their positions.

Dylan and Ramsey's eyes more focused than before. 

Luke was now looking down at Deckard who was flat in his back. Hobbs’ hands were now holding back Shaw’s wrists above his head and his legs kept the smaller man down. Hobbs could see Deckard's chest was lightly exposed and moving up and down from his breathing.

They were staring at each other, only a few inches away. Their bodies calming down at the new position. Both were quiet, waiting for the other to make the next move. Both unaware of the audience that had been secretly watching them from behind the glass window.

"Looks like I won the bet," Ramsey whispered to Dylan. 

"Do they...? Are they…?" Dylan asked completely puzzled at what just happened. His face felt like it was on fire like he had seen something he shouldn't. He has never seen them like this before. And yet, with what everyone said… he needed to know.

"You really don't know them just yet, little mouse." Ramsey smiled.

Before anyone made another move, a voice was heard through a Nowhere speaker.

"Would the Dom family make their way back to the meeting room. We made a decision on our next move."

[act-addict-actors-matchups]

@ne-nene-ne said,

[1/2] Hi~ May I pls have a matchup? I'm a ♏, ISFP, 5'0 fem w/ medium length dark hair & eyes. I like wearing sweaters/sweatpants a lot! I love to draw & sing especially! I'd sing softly to my s/o if we're close & alone together. I often take endless pics of the sunset bc it's so pretty! Tbh I'm a loner. I'm shy, quiet, awkward and I like my alone time. I'm friendly and good-willing towards others nonetheless! I've been told I have a positive aura. I'm more chill, silly & playful w/ family!

[2/2] I can joke around w/ them! I have a short temper but I forgive just as quickly. I can be hard on myself bc I feel it's necessary to improve. I'm an appreciative person so I'll say "thank you" like 1000 times lol! I highly value family & honesty! My ideal s/o is someone family-oriented, devoted, and genuine. Bonus points if they're funny too! I'd like someone who I can slowdance to soft, jazz music w/. My love language is Acts of Service! Tysm! Take your time, stay healthy & stay safe! ❤

✧ Thank you so much for requesting a matchup love. Tumblr is not letting me tag you so hopefully you’ll see this. 😔 I wish you well during this challenging time. Hope you keep safe as well! 😷

I’d match you with: . . .

➜ HOW YOU TWO FIRST MET ; Juza Hyodo is that typical cold guy in school that everyone is lowkey scared of. That’s how he seems from outside anyway. You were asked by your biology teacher to borrow the books for the class’s current lesson from the library on the spot so you took a beeline for the shelves as fast as you could. But for god’s sake all the books were placed at the topmost part of the science shelves. You stood there for a good minute while glaring at the books overhead. You knew you were damned for good since there were no chairs nearby that were available and the librarian was nowhere to be seen. You stomped you feet in annoyance until you felt a looming presence behind you. A tall one. When you turned around, you saw Juza grabbing the books at ease and handing it to you. You thanked him quietly which surprised him because you actually didn’t quiver with fear or panic in his presence??? and you genuinely thanked him?? It was not usual for him to hear someone express their gratitude towards him. Even the cashiers from sweet shops he’d like to visit secretly we’re scared of him for heaven’s sake. After murmuring a little “‘S nothing.” he walked away. And that was the end of it. Or so you thought. The second time you met the purple haired boy was in a cafe. You were patiently waiting in the line for this so called Peanut Butter Pound Cake S'mores. According to your friends, it was one of the best desserts the cafe ever had. To test that theory, you decided to check the dessert yourself. Everything was perfectly normal until a young teenage boy of average height with fluffy pink hair and light blue eyes bumped into you, spilling a little of his drink on you. Yes, I’m talking about Muku. Baby boy was so scared and flustered, he apologized to you multiple times like crazy. Luckily it wasn’t anything hot so you didn’t burn yourself. Giving the boy a soft smile, you said it was fine and he shouldn’t worry about it. But he is a kind-hearted and modest boy with the motto "doing one good deed each day" so of course he offered you to give some of the Chocolate-Caramel Sandwich Cookies he had ordered before to apologize properly. Normally you would’ve reject the offer but with the way he was looking at you, you couldn’t find the heart to do so. While waiting for your order together, you learned what the boy’s name was and that he came here with his cousin. When you heard that the first image that popped into your mind was a soft looking person just like him you. After you got your order, the two of you made your way towards their table. And with that, your previous thought was thrown out of the window just like that. There he was, one and only Juza Hyodo, the person who helped you in the library, was sitting in a chair, quietly munching on one of the many sweets in front of him. When Muku announced that he was back, his eyes shot up to him and then shifted towards you. Yeah, it was awkward. Nevertheless, you tried to offer the tall boy a smile, which he just nodded his head, cheeks tilted pink to get his sweet tooth exposed to someone from school. After you sat down, Muku began to explain how he accidentally bumped into you and spilled some of his drink on you. Juza got the picture and said nothing. Though, gradually he started to become more comfortable. Before you knew it, you befriend the young teenage boy with fluffy hair. You told Muku how you two first met, which he only exclaimed how cool his cousin was and how the scene was just like from a shoujo manga. So yeah, your friendship with Juza started that day and slowly but steadily developed into something more. You would see him at school and chat with him, give him snacks to eat together on the rooftop etc.

➜ PERSONALITY COMPATIBILITY ; Let me just start of by saying that you two are really similar in terms of personality. A loner who is shy, quiet, awkward, likes alone time yet still friendly and good-willing towards others? Yeah, you get to point. When you're dating someone who has almost identical personality traits as you, reading them becomes easier. Juza is honest and critical of himself but is more than willing to work hard on it to improve himself and so are you. You two motive each other become better versions of yourselves, constantly pushing forward hand in hand ad I think that’s a beautiful thing in a relationship. You two have the same values. He deeply values his comrades and family so he would love it whenever he saw you getting along with Muku or Kumon. He’s very protective of those he holds dear, so watching you interact with them and care for them as if they were your own family would make him fall for you even more. The same goes for him as well. He’ d try his utmost best to get along with your family. Physical affection is OUT the window in the first start of your guys' relationship though. And when you guys DO start attempting physical contact, he'd be so stiff. Baby boy really hasn’t had a lot of experience in regards to how to treat others with affection outside of his family. 🥺 but deep down, Juza has a soft side. He’s a bit shy with showing his affections, but he tries his utmost best to convey his love to you― one of them being if you ever needed him support with ANYTHING honestly, he’ll always make it known to you that you have his full support and that he’s always right beside you through everything.

➜ SHARED ACTIVITIES ; With an delinquent-like appearance that often gives people a "scary" impression of him, I feel like Juza would rather spend time inside rather than outside. For those with a serious sweet tooth, baking, especially with a lover has a double benefit: It engages the two of you in an activity you probably don't do often, and you get to enjoy something delicious afterward. You two make an especially decadent dessert when you're feeling ambitious, or simply break out a boxed mix if you're short on time — or baking skills. At first times, there is a lot of trial and error and you guys end up getting covered in flour and such, a cheeky smile present on your face. These are usually the times where you get to hear Juza’s rare laughs as he joined in your joy. Feeling too lazy to bake something? Have a candy tasting. Satisfying your sweet tooth is a foolproof way to survive. Stock up on different colors of Starbursts, Gummi Bears or Worms, Sour Straws, Hi-Chews, and whatever else you are craving— and then eat your way through the rainbow together. Bonus points if you’re lounging off your sugar coma with a movie on the couch afterwards, he doesn’t particularly mind what kind so it’s totally up to you which genre you want to watch. This one is technically not a date but sometimes you, Juza, Muku and Kumon play board games. Depending on how competitive you are, this idea can be a little dangerous. (looking at you monopoly.) But it’s always a blast to spend time with people you love and cherish.

➜ ZODIAC COMPATIBILITY ; Juza’s birthday is on September 27, which makes him a Libra. When Libra and Scorpio come together in a love match, they tend to make a very emotionally connected and mutually satisfying union. Though Scorpio is a brooder who can get lost in the confusing welter of their own emotions, Libra’s proclivity for balance and harmony helps keep Scorpio even. Scorpio can return the favor to Libra with their characteristic powers of focus, a trait that Libra usually lacks. These two are very compatible due to their similar needs in a love relationship: Libra is the Sign of Partnership, and Libra is happiest when in a well-balanced and intimate relationship, while Scorpio thrives on emotional and sexual intimacy with their mate. These two Signs can make a very loyal, close and satisfying partnership. What’s the best aspect of the Libra-Scorpio relationship? The power they find in unity. They can accomplish a lot, whether they come together for a cause in the business or romantic sphere. They are both winners and they won’t give up, making theirs a relationship that takes care of business.

[writeradamanteve]

Excerpt: Cowboy Jones Celestial Bodies

Betty could only think that she was ready to pull her weight on the ship, because having nothing but childcare to wake up to was beginning to seem like an endless wormhole to nowhere.

“I just need to feel like myself again,” Betty explained, taking her crown hat of magnifying glasses and putting it on her head. “And I figured there’s this handy-dandy hovering bassinet to keep Juliet near me at all times.”

Jughead nodded, casting her a sympathetic look. “Want me to take Juliet to the bridge after you feed her?”

Betty could see that Juliet was already restless. In a couple of minutes, she would be crying. She put her arms out for the baby and Jughead laid her carefully in Betty’s arms to be breastfed.

When Juliet was properly latched, Betty looked up at Jughead and sighed. “I’m not supposed to get tired of this mothering thing. Is there some kind of gestalt that mothers are supposed to draw their postpartum glow from? All those moms on baby products and hospital reading material look so happy...”

Jughead held out his hand and she took it. It was then Betty realized that she had actually gotten good enough at this breastfeeding thing that she could comfortably do it one-armed and with a crown of magnifying glasses on her head.

“It’s just Salad Lady, mothering,” he said. “You know this.”

She nodded. The Salad Lady encompassed all those random stock photos of women happy to be eating a bowl of vegetables, without dressing. It was their code for anything media portrayed as disproportionately enjoyable compared to the actual experience. Exercise Lady was just Salad Lady, exercising, just like Maternity Lady was just Salad Lady, pregnant. They were all the Salad Lady.

“You look amazing, by the way,” he said. “I really want to take a picture of you breastfeeding Juliet just like this. Seriously. I’ll post it on Instantgram.”

This was incredible. “You have an Instantgram?”

“Juliet has an Instantgram--set to friends and family, of course. Mom set up an account just for it.”

“Ah.” This was epically hilarious and adorable, but she didn’t want Jughead to think she was shaming him, because she wanted him to be this silly about his daughter. She wanted him to be unashamedly a marshmallow dad. “You know, if you post a picture of me just like this, I might be a Salad Lady to someone else.”

Jughead was already lining up the camera on his device. “Impossible. You are totally real and relatable. Don’t smile.” The digital click was audible. “So can I? Post a photo of you?”

“Why not?”

Not a few seconds later, the telltale swooping sound of a post punctuated his typing. He projected the post and Betty saw herself with her feet up on her work desk, breastfeeding a baby while looking every bit the mechanic she was. The image was nicely angled to show the warp core in the background.

Mama in her natural habitat.

She arched an eyebrow.

“It was either that or ‘Mama’s a snacc’, which I don’t think is a Juliet post. That would have so obviously been a dad post and I’m not ready to break the third wall quite yet.”

She crooked her finger for him to come closer. When he did, she grabbed the material of his black henley and pulled him down to plant a kiss on his lips. “You haven’t gotten any in weeks, have you?”

“I mean, you would know.”

“Well, yes. And the doctor did say I needed 6 weeks to recover.”

“It’s only been four weeks, three days, eight and a half hours, give or take.”

“Oh, boy. You’ve been keeping track.”

He closed his eyes with martyr-like forbearance, his hands folded in prayer. “The struggle is very. Real.”

She bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Aw.”

“I’m kidding,” he gasped, wide-eyed. “I can’t believe you thought I was serious! I realize that sometimes I act like an animal--”

She made a rawr-ing sound, which made him wag a warning finger at her, exactly the way FP did it when he was chastising either Gladys or Alice, causing Betty to throw back her head and laugh so loud that Juliet gave a mild coo of complaint.

“That’s not all I think about, you know,” he continued. “Give me some credit, Mrs. Jones. I am a fully formed, mature adulting parent.”

“I can give you a blowjob later. Blindfolded. I think it’ll be totally fine.”

“Yes, please.”

********************

Author’s note: It’s nowhere near complete yet, but I know a few of you have been asking and I just want you to know that I hear you. ❤️

[c-is-for-circinate]

---okay wait, no, nevermind, this is what I want to say about Vex and Percy, I found it after all.  I love them because they’re a love story about choosing what you want to build after the world falls down around you, and finding somebody else who will look to the future and build next to you, even though you’re both working with shattered landscapes and cracked tools.  I love them because the way both of their worlds broke is so fucking different, but they understand each other enough to recognize it, and neither one of them can keep from moving instinctively, unstoppably forward anyway.

Once upon a time, they both had lives with plans, and then those lives fell apart.  And both of those lives, those sets of plans included love in their own way, but neither of them looked anything like the love Percy and Vex found with each other.  They didn’t expect that at all.

I have a lot of feelings about teenaged Percival de Rolo, who is probably going to be a clockmaker.  He has so many siblings in his vast noble family that he can do that, he can be semi-useless and artful.  He expects to get married someday, a respectable arranged match to someone he’ll presumably like well enough, and live a quiet, clever life.  I picture him as fond enough of his family, assuming that he’ll be fond enough of his hypothetical maybe-someday wife and his hypothetical maybe-someday children, happy enough in that partnership, with the time and space to be passionate about his cleverness and his books and his inventions.  There’s such a specific kind of fulfilment in that life I think Percy once envisioned for himself, with people who are reliably there, loved but taken a little bit for granted, all of the focus and elation and ‘this is the point of me’ devotion towards intellectual pursuits.  I think he would have been happy with that life, and that he would have been kind of a vaguely-inoffensive asshole because he never really paid enough attention to other people to bother really hurting them, or to learn that he could really hurt them and stop.

Of course we know how all of that fell apart.  What I’m fascinated by is Percy himself, though, Percy who survived to join Vox Machina, because the Percy we know from canon never actually stopped falling apart.  We know he hasn’t rebuilt himself a new life, he doesn’t have a future, he’s got a revenge quest and then he has a dragon distraction, sure, yes, we see that, but it’s not just the facts of what Percy does, it’s the feelings and the headspace he’s in the whole time.  Taliesin’s said a few times, and I am so interested in the implications, that Percy spends 95% of the campaign mostly staying coherent through the middle of a constant, years-long nervous breakdown.  He is constantly slipping back and forth along the edges of dissociating, present enough to react to things but not exactly here, not really processing the full weight of everything that happens, not quite.  He can’t tell his Orthax-visions apart from nightmares cooked up by his own brain, and he talks more than once about how much the past few years with VM feel more like a dream than reality.  His judgment is a mess, diving headfirst into deals with anyone who’ll have him, making whatever bad decision seems like a good idea at the time.

So Percy’s life was smashed to smithereens and the Percy we know has absolutely not recovered, has not even really begun to recover--but one of the really epic things about Percy is the way he just keeps moving forward anyway.  Dazed, dissociated, acting on instinct, whatever Percy may be, it is baked into his very nature to keep on going.  When Percy is surprised or threatened, he always seems to be shocked into action, not stillness.  We see it when he goes full Determinator in Whitestone during the Briarwoods arc, and again chasing Ripley to Glintshore.  We see it directly after the Chroma Conclave attack, looking for a plan, for a next step, when he tugs Vex to evacuate the keep; we see it in the ruins of Draconia when he’s the only one to notice Tiberius, and he is so careful about asking questions that won’t derail the thing they have in motion, so careful not to alert any of the others who might grind everything to a halt, because grief or no grief this has to keep going anyway.  Even when he’s awash with useless emotions and there’s nowhere to go to, Percy broods at work, down by a forge or setting pen to paper, making and planning and doing.  It’s so telling that even at his absolute worst, in that pit of nothing when Orthax first whispered in his ear, Percy’s reaction was to make something.

.

Which brings us to Vex, who isn’t quite a maker like Percy, but is still a builder in her own way.  Vex who had her own life that fell apart, and I don’t really mean Byroden, and I certainly don’t mean Syngorn.

Vex’s life, Vex’s plans, weren’t handed to her.  The life Vex expected to live was the one she was still living when we first met her: the traveling adventurer’s life she’d built with Vax.  (And maybe that’s our first demonstration of exactly how much Vex is maker and a builder, that after her life fell to pieces the first time--after Byroden, after Syngorn--she’d already managed to put together a new one once.)  She has her brother and she has her bear, and by the time we meet her she has Vox Machina, and it’s not much for convention but it’s a life.  All of her expectations are locked into that life and that future.  VM at level 9, with a keep under construction and the respect of Tal’dorei, was obviously already pretty different than the twins at level 1 living in the woods, but it’s also so easy to see how it’s just a continuation of the same thing.  Vex and her twin live in each others’ pockets, and she shoots things and makes sure that there is always enough to eat and always money for a rainy day, and there’s stability in unconditional love and self-sufficiency right there.  Laura’s mentioned on Talks that, if the Conclave hadn’t attacked and Vax had left the group, Vex would have tried as hard as possible to convince him to stay, and then would’ve gone with him for sure.  Of course she would have. Vox Machina was the life Vex was trying to build, but Vax and Trinket were the life she already had, cornerstone and truth.

You can see how hard Vex works to create and maintain and secure that life with every coin she squirrels away so zealously against a rainy day.  There is no doubt in my mind that, pre-Vox Machina, Vex and her bow and her hoarded pennies was the one who made sure there was always something to eat over the campfire every night.  There is no doubt in my mind that when they found Byroden in ashes, Vex was the one who got her brother moving, who kept them moving, who kept them pointed forwards no matter what.  And you can see how much Vex put into the bigger, richer, theoretically more-stable life Vox Machina was starting to build together when it all came crashing down.

Percy’s life fell apart pre-stream, and we all know exactly how.  The super fascinating thing about Vex’s arc is that we get to see her life fall apart, right there in the middle of the story, maybe more than anybody else.  The Chroma Conclave was hard on everyone for all sorts of reasons, but in terms of what Vex tried to build for herself and tried to keep, it’s easy to see how fast and how utterly she loses very nearly everything.  Greyskull Keep is first, of course, with the heartbreak of watching Vex hesitating there at the edge of the tree with tears in her eyes, because this was their home.  It’s such a big thing for her, more than for anyone else--and of course it is, because Vex more than anyone in the group saw Greyskull as her future.  Keyleth always had the Ashari to go back to, and Pike had Sarenrae, Grog lives in the motion and Scanlan avoids plans, Percy could barely conceive of a future existing and Vax was lost and floundering for any next step he could find, but Vex had this castle and Vex called this castle home.  

Of course it doesn’t end with the castle, though, because this love story is the story of how everything breaks, and the next thing of Vex’s to break was Vax.  Before the dragons came, Vax was already falling apart and falling away from her in two different directions, half of him tugged away by depression and uncertainty, the other half pulled after Keyleth.  The seeds of distance were sprouting there even before Vex died in the Queen’s champion’s tomb.  And maybe that feels even more symbolic now than I ever realized it did before--Vex died and came back, but the deal her brother made, that vow he swore, wiped away any chance Vex still had for ever getting back that wandering rogue-and-ranger life that once was hers.

The Chroma Conclave arc takes nearly half of Campaign 1, and Vex spends it watching bits of her old life crumble while she’s much, much too busy to process or mourn.  There are dragons in the world, and there’s no time to worry about what the world will look like once they’re dead.  She doesn’t have plans.  Vax has raven wings and a goddess and a girlfriend, and Emon is on fire, is turning to lava beneath Thordak’s feet, and Keyleth is a wreck and Grog dies for five minutes and god only knows what’s going on in Scanlan’s head ever--and Vex, like Percy, just keeps going.  She reads the Raven Queen book cover to cover seventeen times.  She takes things, and she hoards things, and she scrounges for loot, and she gets called greedy for it but the thing is that for Vex, acquiring things is very much a fundamental kind of building for the future, maybe even more than making and tinkering is for Percy.  Stocking up now will save them later, it’s baked into the firmament of Vex’s soul, take whatever you can because you will NEED IT someday.  She steals a broom because she wants it, yes, and then it saves all of their lives.  She sets the group after Fenthras because she wants it.  She bargains and she haggles, even when there’s no reason at all to believe that tomorrow will come, even when Vex has no idea what tomorrow could be, because whatever doubts she may have on the surface, her instincts can’t give up that last breath of faith: I will need this money later, because there will be a later.  Just like Percy, scribbling plans in his journals late in the night for inventions he has no time or supplies to make.  Neither of them have any fucking clue what the future could possibly be, but they can’t stop working towards it anyway.

.

This is the environment where they fall into each other, Vex and Percy, in the middle of the mess of the Chroma Conclave, in this violent limbo world where any day could be the last and next month might as well not exist.  This is where they plant the seeds and start to grow the future they don’t even believe in yet.

The attraction and the flirting start before the dragons even come, of course.  Percy builds things for Vex to have and keep and use or squirrel away, and it’s such a perfect expression of both of their attitudes towards the world.  Vex keeps his coin with hers, and makes sure to shepherd it just as carefully, makes sure that Percy will have enough in whatever future comes.  And there are hints of what they’ll be.  There’s a reason that ‘Darling, take the mask off’ is SO MUCH, and it’s because ever-moving determinator Percy is stuck.  He’s driving himself right into a corner, working himself off a cliff.  He’s just killed someone horribly and he’s on the edge of blue-screening right now, of stopping, or maybe of smashing everything until there’s nowhere left to go.   And Vex, who’s got a good life for herself right now but has already lost one and knows what it’s like, says, come on.  Let’s back you away from this wall you’ve thrown yourself up against.  Take the mask off.  Let’s keep moving forward. 

And they’re something, there, in the way Vex not only keeps going but tries to keep Percy going right through it all.  So much of Vex’s constant planning and motion is wrapped around and embedded with keeping other people going too.  We know she took care of Vax when it was just the two of them, because they took care of each other, and you cannot tell me Vex wasn’t the long-term planner of the pair.  She gathers Trinket up out of horror and sadness and makes sure he has a future.  She collects strays, angel slave-boys, the fruitless quest for the Gray Render baby.  She pulls Percy out of a jail cell and keeps him in the first place.  And there’s a selfless generosity to it, of course, or it’s easy to see one anyway, Vex who mothers, Vex who checks in on everybody else after her own death, but that’s not the whole story.  The other half of it is Vex-who’s-never-been-alone.  Vex who hoards people as tightly and as carefully as she hoards coin.  She can keep going through nearly anything, so long as her people are there with her, so she is going to make sure that everyone she loves stays okay because she needs them to be.

The thing about Percy is that--because he’s a builder, a maker, a fixer, a determinator in his own right--he can return that favor.  He can make sure that Vex keeps going, not by stopping and sitting in her feelings with her until she’s ready to move (which is very much the Vax and Keyleth energy), but by tugging her along in the direction she was already going.  In Syngorn he gives her Whitestone, and oh, it’s a way to shut her father up, but more than anything it’s a someday.  There in the city that helped destroy Vex’s first good life, while the dragon that burned the rest of it to ashes sits over the ruins of her last, Percy makes a promise that someday Vex can have a home and a future again.  It’s far away and shrouded in mist.   Percy can’t even really picture his own someday right now.  They might both die before they get there.  But there’s a someday ahead, and it’s enough to get Vex moving again, proud and hopeful and ready to go and collect that bow that’ll help get her there.

And Vex turns right back around again on Glintshore and in its aftermath, demanding that Percy have that future too, because she doesn’t want this one without him.  If he’s going to promise her a someday to move towards again, then he damn well has to get there too.  It’s because she wants him to be alive and happy, and it’s because Vex just wants him, needs him in her life, this human she collected and is so determined to keep.

So the promise of someday, in Whitestone is glittering on the horizon for them when they kiss in the woods after the Vorugal fight, and it’s just barely around the corner past the next couple of hells when Percy comes to her room before Thordak, but I think it also still feels like a far-away mirage, and I think that matters.  They are both still lost in a world full of carnage and dragons and constant threat.  Percy is stabbing Raishan in a council meeting because why the fuck not, this seems like a good idea at this time.  Vex is still so unsure, trying to teach herself to forgive, trying to see a path forward to that someday-horizon, trying to deal with the fact that even if they kill all the dragons and even if they all survive she’s lost her brother to Keyleth and fate.  The world is a wreck and they are a wreck in it, and the only thing they can do is not stop.  The only thing they can be sure of is right here, right now.

So that’s where they fall into bed.  On the eve of the Thordak fight, knowing they both could die tomorrow, knowing they most likely will.  They’re about to go take on the monster that destroyed the only two homes Vex ever loved, a decade and a half apart, and there is no kind of promise that either of them will see the other side of the war, and that’s where they grab each other and hold on.  They’re here in this impossible place together.  They’ll take it as it comes, they’ll take whatever comes, and for this one night they have each other in it.

.

And then they survive.

So much of the episodes directly after the end of the Conclave--the next week or two in Vox Machina’s life, where they save Scanlan and try to bury some ashes and rip themselves apart, and then fight a kraken and die trying, and then go to Hell, and then come back--is just this string of, okay, nobody here knows how to stop.  The dragons are dead, but the fugue state of violence and getting-the-next-thing-done, nose to the grindstone and figure this next step out and don’t worry about long-term plans because we might not survive to see them anyway, that’s still here.  Percy’s been living there for years (and certainly didn’t have time, post-Briarwoods arc, to start thinking about pulling himself out of it).  Vex’s specific life plans got trashed by the dragons more than anyone else’s.  But really, the whole group is living there in one way or another.  It’s just that Scanlan shattered under it and ran, and Grog’s never really suffered from it or lived differently anyway, and Pike keeps taking breaks to fix temples and tend to refugees and work towards rebuilding right through it all.  Keyleth and Vax both found a sort of peace in fatalism and destiny, in knowing that they have set paths there in front of them and all they have to do is choose to follow them.

Percy and Vex, very fundamentally, don’t have those set paths.  Nothing for them is a given.  There’s Whitestone, yes, but there is a reason Percy isn’t Lord of Whitestone, king in his castle, leading his city through the dragons and beyond.  When Percy’s life broke it shattered, and even when Whitestone was freed, he didn’t claim it as his.  He only came back after the dragon attack because Emon was gone and it was the only safe place they knew.  Whitestone is in Percy’s bones, part of how he defines himself and his life, but living there, running it, tying himself to the city--it isn’t a given.  Percy could die fighting dragons or die to a kraken or spend eternity trapped in the Nine Hells, and Whitestone would be fine.  He could leave and never come back, and Whitestone would be fine.

So coming back to Whitestone--sending Vex on the Gray Hunt--fucking in the castle treasury and setting up plans for whatever’s next--it’s a choice.  Nothing about the people Percy and Vex become during peacetime is about destiny.  They had lives and plans and destinies, the rich asshole clockmaker, the ranger on the road.  Those are gone.  Everything they keep from those old lives is a little broken, a little twisted from what they once expected it to be.  Everything they do now is what they decide to build.

And this is the glory of Percy and Vex, the love that’s so big it makes my heart ache: the thing they decide to keep in this new world is each other.  In the fugue of war with no future, they found each other and built things together, spent an entire evening tinkering on Vex’s stolen broom in Percy’s workshop, flirted and fucked and kept each other going even when nobody knew where.  Neither of them had real, passionate romantic love written into their plans, back when they had plans.  Neither of them needed it, not for the lives they wanted.  But those lives are dead and gone, and they found this thing together in the weird wilderness between there and here, and they’re keeping it.  They get to do that.  They get to build their new lives in whatever shape they want, and that means they get to set each other as cornerstones and build everything else around them.

It’s so fundamental to this relationship and this new future that all the building blocks they’re working with, on both sides, are a little bit broken.  Whitestone itself is still a struggling, recovering city sitting on a decimated continent.  Percy is still so caught up in his own anger, still waiting for another shoe to drop, still not quite ready to believe any of this is real.  Vex is pouring through libraries researching Orcus, researching Vecna, waiting for old debts to be called in.  They are neither of them fixed.  They are neither of them safe.

But we get to see, in one-year timeskip, how tentatively and tenaciously they keep working together towards something anyway.  Vex builds a house and a Gray Hunt corps and a tentative detente with her father, starting to pick up those old pieces, starting to try.  Percy builds civic works projects and an international early warning system, still ready for the next disaster, starting to entertain the idea that it doesn’t have to destroy everything.  They get new glasses and open a bakery and invest in armor and ammo and art.  They host a ball.

They get married, in secret, and tell almost nobody they know.  It’s such an asshole thing to do!  They are both still assholes, both still broken enough to be wary of the consequences of inviting their own loved ones to a simple wedding.  They do it because the point isn’t the moment, it’s the marriage, all the future days to come in this new life they’ve agreed they are going to create together.  They want it to be theirs, just theirs, this relationship they never expected to have and now intend to base the rest of their lives on.  It’s kind of a messy, slightly dickish way to go about things, and that’s perfect, because Vex and Percy are kind of messy, slightly dickish people, and they own that together.  They own a lot of things together now.

.

The epilogue of Campaign 1 walks the line between open-ended and closed story in a way I find so deeply satisfying, and so much of that is because of Percy and Vex.

So many stories end at a point where--the day is saved, or it appears to be, and the horizon is wide open for the heroes and the sunset, and everything is triumphant and victorious and anything could happen next.  It’s perfectly satisfying and ripe for sequels, and nothing is quite guaranteed but everybody is happy for now and that’s a good place to tie things up anyway.  It’s the ending of Return of the Jedi, or the first Pacific Rim--something has to happen next, somebody has to figure out what that is, but that’s not the heroes’ problem and that’s not the worry for today.

Sometimes, stories end with everything so tightly wrapped up that there’s no room to breathe.  It’s the ending that says, what you’ve just read or watched or gone through is the entire story.  It is everything that matters.  It is full, and it is complete, and nothing that ever happens in the rest of these characters’ lives will ever be as important as what they’ve just done.  Lord of the Rings does this a bit, and it actually works; Harry Potter does it badly, and I’d submit that The Adventure Zone: Balance does too.  It’s the implication behind every Disney or fairytale happily ever after, although those at least tend to skip the epilogue describing exactly what that happily-ever-after means.

Vex and Percy do neither of these things at the end of their story, or they do both of them, and that’s so great.  They do get the epilogue, with the closed ending and the happily-ever-after.  The Lord and Lady de Rolo settle down, have at least five children, and live in peace for decades until Percy eventually dies of old age and Vex far-more-eventually follows.  Their friends outlive them by decades or centuries.  It’s tidy and nice and final...except.  Whitestone could outlive even Keyleth, and Percy--and by extension now Vex, too--lives as long as Whitestone lives.

Somehow Percy and Vex manage to have an epilogue with every one of the trappings of a perfect picture-book ending, without feeling static.  They’re going to have the house and the kids and the castle and the tiny little kingdom, and it’s going to be full every single day, because inherent in the very makeup of these two people is the inability to ever stop growing.  With the dragons dead, with Vecna gone, they can keep doing exactly what they’ve been doing this entire time.  They can move forward.  They can build.  And they can build something massive that outlasts both of them, lay foundations and groundwork for centuries and generations to come.

Fighting with Vox Machina will always have been the biggest, hardest, most glorious and dangerous, most epic thing that Vex and Percy have ever done, and it’s absolutely over.  The book is done, tied off with a bow.  But they’re not stuck and they’re not empty without it.  They’re going to make clock towers and festivals and change the whole culture of Whitestone.  They’re going to have half a dozen children and raise them towards their future.  The Whitestone of fifty, sixty, seventy years from the end of the campaign when Percy eventually dies will be fundamentally different from the Whitestone they came home to when their adventures ended, and it will be the pair of them who made it so, together.  Which means that even without him Vex will still have him, in civil infrastructure and all the things that let people keep living their lives, in this thing they created as a team, this thing she’ll continue to shepherd and grow without him for the rest of her own life.

And maybe that’s the key to Vex and Percy, to why their ending feels so satisfying, so inevitable and perfect and good.  So many stories end before their characters can change and split away from each other.  So many epilogues decree that their characters will never change, ever, so they can never grow apart.  But Percy and Vex are built of growth and motion, and when they found a match for themselves in each other they decided to point that forward momentum in the same direction and change together for the rest of their lives.  It’s what a real relationship looks like, a real happily-ever-after.  They will pick each other up and help each other on along the way, because we’ve seen it happen.  They’ll hold on to each other, and they’ll build.